


Craters

by LadyShockbox



Series: By Sparing Sazabi (Extended) [1]
Category: SD Gundam, SD Gundam Force
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, BetterBeMeta, Hospitalization, Injury Recovery, Mecha, Multi, Prequel, Unofficial Sequel, kawaii robogore, short story collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 08:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 283,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8006419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShockbox/pseuds/LadyShockbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on BetterBeMeta's "The Fate of Commander Sazabi" - The events of The Red Comet shake the Gundam Force to its core. A life hangs in the balance as many separate ones scramble to pick up the broken pieces. The Commander isn't the only one left in shambles, and there is more than one crater left in his wake. A series of connecting short stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 13 1/2

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Fate of Commander Sazabi](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7929382) by [BetterBeMeta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetterBeMeta/pseuds/BetterBeMeta). 



> Oops.

**See who I am,** **break through the surface.**  
  
**Free our minds and find a way.**  
  
**This is not the end.**

 _See Who I Am_ – Within Temptation

**i**

**V1**

All he saw was red.

It wasn’t from rage – not anymore. Dully, he reached out across his fractured memories to try and remember _why_ he had been so angry. It was like grasping for a ghost: _there,_ but still entirely intangible. Struggling to make something out of nothing made his head hurt, so he stopped. He felt dizzy, his thoughts were hazy... everything was a blur of motion and confusion that pushed his mind further and further into the background, so he settled into it willingly. He was too tired to fight for anything else. Trying to resist the exhausting cloud was too much effort for such little payoff. He really didn’t care why he had been angry, anyways. He didn’t need closure if he couldn’t recall why it even mattered.

There were warnings rapidly flashing in his vision. Words he couldn’t recognize, pulsing black and yellow shapes with lines of broken code, and a siren that kept sputtering on and off... it died down to a soft groan and promptly faded with a whimper. Was he hurt? He briefly wondered who _he_ even was. There was tremendous force and heat pushing against him, causing his locked body to ascend faster, push harder—

That was when he finally remembered something: the red bursting around him was from _fire_.

_“Warning: system failure. Heat threshold reached: permanent damage to processing core detected. Impact imminent: ten seconds. Spark implosion: imminent. Shutting down non-primary functions. Conservation mode: online. Error: scripting malfunction. Conservation mode: offline. Backup: failed. Memory: failed. Engine: failed. Spark chamber: overheating. Impact imminent: five seconds. Four...”_

He wondered how long he had been floating there for, diving upward into infinity. He shoved the intrusive voice out of his head, focusing on the rush of trickling warmth around him. He felt... what? At peace? Whatever his ruined brain had been thinking before, whatever drove to place him in _this_ moment of time, it was no longer relevant. He felt content. This was okay. No one was going to miss him.

_“Three.”_

He ascended faster, starting to shake. The weight of his own body was pulling him upward higher, higher, and higher. The anticipation sent pinpricks across his numb circuits. All the tension in his body faded. He wanted to rest. That sounded nice.

_"Two. _”__

He remembered something, but the memory was gone before he formed a full picture in his already dying brain. _Was_ he dying? Pictures flickered across his vision, but he couldn’t seize them before they were lost forever. Was a memory really _that_ important if you couldn't call it back? He was going to fall asleep. The sky, solid and black, welcoming and cold, rushed downward to finally meet him.

_"One."_

He blasted his way through oblivion, shooting for the stars as the red fire around him went cold, but his chest still _burned_. The dying warmth held on with digging claws as he was flung headlong into darkness. It refused to let go – for now.

_“Critical failure. Systems: deactivated. Thank you for using the Recall Action Installment Musai Integration system: R.A.I.M.I. Goodbye, user: Commander Stalemate Sazabi. For the future of the Dark Axis, have a productive day.”_

**[ii](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7929382/chapters/18135412) **

**Keiko Ray**

_“What’s wrong?”_

_“Well, he’s locked up tight for sure,” said Kao Lyn. “But according to his altimeter he’s somewhere way up in the sky! Oh, that can’t be good!”_

_Nana babbled in her mother’s ear. “Sta! ‘Zabi!”_

_“Ssh,” Keiko hushed. “He’s… falling?”_

_“Yes, and falling fast. Wait, too fast! Hold the phone! Hold, maybe a dozen phones!”_

_Juli cut in from the original call. “Doctor? What is it?”_

_“This can’t be! I’ve only seen this kind of energy output from Captain! I’m not sure if Sazabi’s soul drive has ever discharged itself before,” said Kao Lyn. He frantically pulled up more esoteric numbers. “But he shouldn’t be able to move or do anything!”_

_“Mom! Comet!” Nana shrieked, laughing and reaching over her mother’s shoulder._

_Keiko turned around. A star was dropping from the sky: bright and golden and close. It inched nearer, a flare trailing behind it. It sped up parabolically. Until it cracked in a solar burst and vanished. As the dazzling spots faded, Keiko realized it hadn’t burned up. Fire marked a fresh crater punched into a faraway hillside. The thunderclap came after._

_Keiko didn’t know what to say. She turned back to the view screen. The monitors behind Kao Lyn had gone disturbingly calm. Juli hid her frown between two cupped hands._

**iii**

**Guneagle**

Guneagle touched down before any of the gunperries and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Flying here was impossible: the heat radiating from the crater was too intense for his wings to tolerate. He would never be able to stay airborne. He struggled enough already.

He was still recovering from damage he took deflecting the Big Zam’s missile from Neotopia tower. There was the extra damage he took fighting off (and later subduing) that one Doga Commando, too. The slow healing was the only reason he didn’t go with the rest of the _Gundam Musai_ crew to Lacroa and Ark. He would be more of a hinderance not being able to fly as well as he could before the invasion, and he damn well knew it. It was a hard blow to his pride and self-worth: he knew he was slowly getting better, yeah, but allowing the time for his hurt body to mend was just so  _boring_. With the Dark Axis no longer posing an immediate threat to Neotopian airspace, there was little for him to do other than patrol and get his metaphorical “wings” back. Flying was different for him now since the attack. He was slower, weaker...

Healing would take time. Guneagle knew that and kept reminding himself on a regular basis. He just wasn’t anticipating it would be _this_ much time.

Part of him was relieved when he saw the Doga Bombers – and Commander _Sazabi_ , no less! – show up on his scanners during one of his evening exercise flights. Kao Lyn said he needed to go out every night for at least an extra hour to get his strength back. It was boring stuff: some thruster calibrations, a few shallow dives to test his onboard speedometer and sensor net, some loose barrel rolls... Sazabi presented an opportunity. If the Commander really _was_ up to his old tricks, he could take him out himself! It would brand him a hero! He could prove to Chief Haro that he was fit to help Captain and the others as soon as they reestablished contact with the _Gundam Musai_ in the Minov.

Except Sazabi had  _holy shit is that a baby with him_ , and Guneagle unwittingly had no choice but to follow the Axian's orders to whisk poor Nana to safety. Who carried around an entire infant in their steerage, anyways?

When he finally realized he forgot to radio Blanc Base to report the incident, Chief Haro was in borderline hysterics. Guneagle couldn’t remember if the leader of the SDG had ever sounded so horrified. He managed to keep his cool when all of Blanc Base was nearly dropped on the city, so something clearly had him set off. “We already have evac and medical on their way to the Ray household. Get Nanako there safely, Guneagle. We’ll maintain eyes on the Commander.”

It wasn’t very hard, Guneagle thought afterward. All of Neotopia saw the Red Comet, and they all heard the thunderclap when it finally came crashing down.

Guneagle knew he had no business being in the air anymore. Kao Lyn had sent him callback pings on his radio as soon as he made it back to Shute’s house, safely delivering Nana to a sobbing Keiko and frantic medics. As the gunperry took off in one direction, he took to the opposite in pursuit of the Dogas and the Commander. No one knew what was going on, but Guneagle was going to be damned if he sat back and did nothing. Without Captain, he was the next “in line” as the Gundam Force’s defensive power. The Gundivers couldn’t fly. Gunbike was still recovering from his _own_ long term injuries after the Dark Axis invasion. Guneagle was the only one who could do _something_ , so he forced the return calls back and made his way towards the city. It was dark when the flash of red and gold started to streak across the sky. Guneagle wouldn’t have even recognized it as the Commander at all if it hadn’t been for Kao Lyn finally hailing him on a manual channel. 

“Guneagle, rendezvous with the rescue team at the crash site,” Kao Lyn said over the radio, breathless. “It’s Commander Sazabi! He’s broken the sound barrier and fallen from far, _far_ too high! Straight down from the thermosphere, if these calculations are correct. There may be nothing left of him! Please hurry!”

 _Nothing left_ was a severe understatement. The heat from the crater intensified as Guneagle crossed its threshold. Grass was still burning at its edges where the superheated shockwave blast scorching air. Several small trees were charred black, twisted into unrecognizable husks. Even the composition of the air changed: hot, dry, and suffocating. The odor of sulfur and potassium clung to his olfactory sensors like a second skin. Guneagle had to switch to cycling air through his vents (something _usually_ reserved for emergency flight in the mesosphere), activating an air conditioning unit to keep his frame from overheating. It was sweltering. If Sazabi had fallen from as high as Kao Lyn said he did, he probably wasn’t alive.

And he wasn’t.

As Guneagle slowed to a light jog, there was a burning hulk of metal partially embedded in the burning ground. If it had been a mech, it was borderline unrecognizable. The shell was charred black, molten paint melted and bleeding under the surface, with burnt oil pooled and caramelizing underneath the heavy corpse. Something was lying underneath, a second mech, crushed beyond all recognition. Still, Guneagle could still make out the cues that made the larger mech Sazabi. The large fin, visor guard, his overall height...

There was no denying the Commander looked so much smaller in death, though. Guneagle shuddered. If he hadn’t been there to take Nana...

Guneagle stood back up, mentally increasing the olfactory block on his sensors. The smell was getting worse: like melting copper. He offered the smoking remains a small salute, then turned and called over his shoulder. Several GMs were already trying to make their way down, struggling through the heat. “Get a hold of Kao Lyn on a private channel! We’re gonna need a cleanup crew and salvage...”

And then Sazabi moved, his jaws open and gasping in a silent howl.

**C R A T E R S**

by Lady Shockbox

based on BetterBeMeta’s _[The Fate of Commander Sazabi](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7929382/chapters/18122086)_


	2. Wilson Sturges

**Find your way home, donors of life.**

**You are the future, you know what to do.**

**Carry out your dangerous task.**

_Ride the Comet_ – Ayreon

**i**

By the time their gunperry docked in the hangar, the mech had died four times. Now he was aiming for a fifth, and he was fading fast.

“ _Fallen Eagle_ has landed! I repeat: _Fallen Eagle_ has landed! Team Alpha ETA to the  _Eagle’s Nest:_ one hundred and twenty seconds! Team Beta, please relay mission status! Hello? Team Beta? Please respond!”

“Jesus Christ in a _fucking_ handbasket,” Wilson Sturges swore. He jerked his hands away from trying to shove the unrestrained mech back into place on the cart's platform. The trolley wobbled with the sheer weight of their patient, groaning on its treads. One of the poor GM medics struggling to push the cart, Jebel, flinched at the shout but kept running. “My gloves are melting again! And what the hell is taking maintenance so long to answer!? We need to make sure they finished cutting the hole in the goddamn wall!”

“I’m still not getting anything on my radio,” Gabriel Quinn answered, breathless. The younger man was running behind him and trying to keep up with the rest of the team with his too-small gait. “It’s been dark since pick-up at the hillside! No one will respond!”

Sturges couldn’t blame him _or_ maintenance: not yet, at least. Blanc Base was in utter chaos. Gunperries were moving between launch pads left and right, pilots and mechanics were sprinting back and forth between posts, and armed GM units were preparing to load and unload from different ships. Some had visibly sustained damage from obvious Doga Bomber attacks. The overall bedlam was reminiscent of the day Blanc Base got knocked clear from the skies and the Dark Axis invasion went in full swing. Sturges had been one of a small team of dedicated engineers who got her airborne again, working with the tech crew to calibrate the engines, then getting the satellite junction cable realigned _just right_ to port a proper connection. Ship engineering wasn’t his preferred career path, though: they just needed all the help they could get. He originally worked with the civilian Neotopian government as part of the city’s GM upkeep division, and he was later transferred to an emergency evac team when joining the SDG.

Wilson Sturges was a Mech Emergency Medical Technician, MEMT for short, and boy-oh-fucking- _boy_ did he have his work cut out for him.

General upkeep and emergency technician work were two very different beasts, regardless of their similar work ethic. Upkeep was standard: a mech would come into his shop needing some repairs after an small accident or standard wear-and-tear, and he would patch them up and send them on their way. It was a decent living with good money and, occasionally, even some hefty clientele with deep pockets. MEMT work was like that too, but it also held a sense of urgency unlike any deadline he had ever had to face on his own terms. While the Dark Axis was never _always_ a threat, the Gundam Force had its own tier of presence on the surface of Neotopia before the Dimensional Guard aspect ever came into play. They worked as privatized first responders to car accidents, power plant mishaps, construction collapses... Sturges would be lying if he said it didn’t bother him watching some of them die. His first mission with the Gundam Force as a “freelance” MEMT working with other responders had been to a warehouse collapse in the shipping district. His patient had been one of four worker GMs dragged out from the rubble, legless and in hysterics. Panic gave way to shock, and before Sturges could save her, the poor worker had expired.

During the Dark Axis invasion, it was a miracle they didn’t lose more mechs and femmes than they did. Sturges himself personally worked on retrieving Gunbike after the skies cleared. Except now there was _another_ invasion... or, at minimum, something that looked a lot like it. Doga Bombers were swarming aimlessly the air above the city and their current patient had gotten shot down. Or maybe he had just crashed.

No one knew for sure what was _really_ happening, but their team had an assignment to fulfill regardless: Operation _Fallen Eagle_.

It was a Black Directive, given to them by Kao Lyn under Chief Haro himself. Black Directives were usually marked when high ranking officials in the SDG were injured or killed, and retrieval and damage control were their top priorities. Only one other Black Directive had been given in the history of the SDG, when Guneagle had taken a direct hit from the Big Zam missile. Sturges was never a part of that mission but knew from the other MEMT divisions it had been called Operation  _Flare Burst_. However, unlike _Fallen Eagle, Flare Burst_ had an additional team for public relations: the explosion had been dangerously close to Neotopia Tower and too many witnesses were screaming for answers. _Fallen Eagle_ only had three teams, and the teams themselves were selected at random based on estimated readiness and field efficiency. Sturges’ team of six, unit eight of fourteen, was deemed _Fallen Eagle_ ’s selected MEMT squad. They were designated as Team Alpha. The other teams were dubbed Team Beta and Team Omega. None of them had ever met in person for a proper mission brief. There had simply never been enough time between the Black Directive mobilization and phase one of the operation. The mission started less than ten minutes after Sturges was notified and received briefing. 

“Sturges! We’re losing him again!” Corus, another GM field medic, was holding a CO2 tank aloft as she jogged alongside their impromptu “stretcher.” The tank was hastily rigged to a heat resistant tube that fed down their patient’s open throat – and that _was_ a throat, Sturges reasoned. The more he looked at the Axian, the more the hulk of ruined metal became recognizable as a mech. His head was (mostly) intact, his charred chest was at least partially outlined, and his limbs still somehow managed to stand out from the rest of the torn shrapnel and wreckage. The subject of _Fallen Eagle_ was a shock to all of them, but they weren’t trained to ask questions first: the first rule of MEMT work was to get the job done above all else. Frankly, this was proving to be a very  _(very)_ hard job. As they hastily rolled the carriage away from their still whirling gunperry, the mech’s unrestrained helm lobbed. The CO2 cable feeding through his open bear-trap jaws (past a loose glossa hastily taped to the cable to keep it in place) was forcibly pushing ultra-cold air into his ventilation system. Providing standard air to flush the vents open would be a death sentence: this mech was roasting from the inside out, and something as convenient and _violate_ as standard oxygen would send half of Blanc Base plummeting straight back down to the ground.

Wilson would be dead _in_ the ground before he let Blanc Base fall again. Not after all the effort they went through to get her back up.

“ _Sturges!_ ” Corus was frantic now, fumbling with the nearly empty CO2 canister. Another GM, Tailgate, was desperately fumbling with another behind her and prepping to step in. It was the last one they had on hand. They had gone through three others in the gunperry. “Engine EKG is plummeting. He’s stalling again!”

“Heads up, you got another micro-convulsion— watch his legs! We don’t have straps on this thing!” Yonkers, the second GM helping to push the trolley with Jebel, warned in the background.

The mech _was_ stalling, and Sturges could tell even without looking at the equipment they had hastily hooked up to their cart: a bulky device normally reserved for transporting gunperry parts to broken down ships in the launch bay. A standard mech-stretcher was simply far too narrow for the sheer size of the Axian they were tasked with. Regardless of interdimensional affiliations, all mechs seemed to respond the same way to "heart" failure: a slowly arching backstrut, tremors, rolled-back optical relays with a strange look on their face... the seizures were standard for mechs who had systems trying, in vain, to run off an engine that suddenly stopped providing energy to the rest of their power-starved bodies. When they found _Fallen Eagle_  in the crater, his engine somehow managed to restart on its own (likely as a last-ditch energy function). Now it was just failing left and right, and the mech was just getting ready to die again. They could only revive him so many times before the damage to his internals was permanent. Five times was absolutely pushing it, sheer mass be damned. There was too just much trauma for his body to take.

“Replace the canister and— oh for God’s sake, someone get the defibrillator up to three thousand volts! The charge can’t do shit to get through this thick armor!” Wilson was already reaching for a new pair of gloves inside the pockets of his heat-resistant hazmat suit, slipping them over the old ones.

 

Engine failure or not, they still had other problems too: the mech was _boiling_ , throwing off heat like an overworked furnace on Christmas Fucking Morning.

“On it!” Gabriel, the only other human on his team, had the radio clipped onto his waistband and was already fumbling with the industrial grade defibrillator already cradled in the crook of his other arm. The younger MEMT was obviously flustered under his own protective gear. “Why is he throwing off so much heat? We got his outside temperature down before getting on the gunperry, but all _this_ access is radiating from his joints and under the plating! How can he be burning up again?”

“Insulation works two ways, you dumbass!” Sturges couldn’t help himself. He didn’t mean to sound rude – not by a longshot, not at all – but the rush of the situation was getting to him. He had been tasked with something important: _Fallen Eagle_ ’s operation-plan involved getting the Commander to the ICU of the base’s emergency medical wing. From the chatter coming in on the radio from other departments involved, it sounded like they were prepping for some kind of surgery. Sturges doubted if anything would help, but he would be damned if he got called out for letting the mech die before the surgeons even got their grubby mitts on them. “All that heat from falling through the atmosphere must have gotten inside him too. Doesn’t matter if you cool down the exterior plating, the bastard’s still cooking like a goddamn steak _inside_.”

“But the CO2 tank _worked_ in the beginning,” Corus said, already working like clockwork with Tailgate to switch out the canisters. The empty tank landed on the ground behind them, rolling away with a clatter as the new tank was installed. There was a hiss, hailing the rush of ultra-cold gas as it flooded the mech’s insides. _Fallen Eagle_ jerked and something inside them groaned. While the cold was working to keep him from melting from the inside out, the cold blast was causing damage of its own. Rapidly heating and cooling metal in the CO2 gas blast-range was causing the weakened material to deform and fracture. Damaging as it was, it was at least the lesser of two distinct evils. “He was cooling down, and now he's heating up again. Something else other than the fall must be causing it. It can't possibly be because of the engine. It's already barely functioning!”

“Thankfully we don’t smell smoke,” Tailgate said nervously, and the ominous words offered a new potential threat: they didn’t smell smoke _yet_. With the way _Fallen Eagle_ was roasting, it was only a matter of time before something flammable inside decided to catch. Oil? _Jet fuel?_ Something as mundane as oxygen combustion was going to be the least of their problems if this mech was already a time bomb. Unless they or Team Omega – the surgeons waiting downstairs – figured out how to cool this mech down...

They finished rounding the corner around a parked gunperry, and Stuges swore again. Operation _Fallen Eagle_ was quickly falling to shambles. “You have got to be fucking _kidding_ me!”

Pete Gallagher stood at six-foot something, and he was the kind of “big” guy you expected to see coaching a sport’s team. In reality, he was the head of the SDG’s maintenance department and the current leader of Team Beta. Sturges wondered if he secretly hated his job or maybe just liked being a pain in everyone’s asses for the hell of it: several lost looking GMs were standing around, still holding power equipment and generally being useless. The hole they were _supposed_ to be cutting into the wall wasn’t there. The evidence of their work was marked with long vertical cuts into the metal (hell, some of them were still smoking), but their participation in Operation _Fallen Eagle_  had since ceased entirely. This was a disaster.

The surgeons in Team Omega were going to have a goddamn _fit_.

Wilston Sturges, age forty-two and pissed as all hell, was _also_ going to have a goddamn fit.

“I am going to strangle you with my own friggin’ _hands_ , you son of a bitch!” Sturges broke away from his team, running ahead to greet the Team Beta leader halfway. Gallagher was smirking, walking in large strides too big for his stupid looking jumper. It took a good fistful of patience on Sturges’ part not to deck him right there and then. “Your guys are supposed to have that wall knocked out by now!”

“I’m not about to start cutting holes in this base without executive orders,” Gallagher said, standing his ground. “I don’t take orders from engineers like you or Lyn. Everything my division does comes from the top. Unless Haro gives the go-ahead in person, we’re not touching _anything_.”

“Haro is too busy dealing with the Doga Bombers and you know it!” Sturges had to resist screaming in his face. He could feel his blood pressure skyrocketing. “Kao Lyn sent out a _Code Black_ executive order. We’re using friggin’ _code names_ , you dolt! All the departments involved received the mission brief. He’s just as much from the top as Haro, you pigheaded—”

“We are _not_ knocking down an entire wall for this— this _thing!_ ” Gallagher gestured broadly, and maybe even a little accusingly, to the broken body they were trying to transport. The mech’s light seizing had intensified. Corus was struggling to force the CO2 cable back down their throat, Tailgate was attempting gauge the mech’s vitals on a handheld tablet previously hitched to the side of the carriage, Gabriel was still struggling with the defibrillator... “They got him into Robo House without knocking down walls, why should we start _now?”_

" _The stretcher is too wide you idiot! WE CAN'T FIT THROUGH ANY DOORS LIKE THIS!"_

An alarm started to scream from Tailgate’s console. The Axian jerked once _hard_ , then stopped shaking altogether.

“Engine EKG is zero! No pulse!” Corus shouted, looking back up at Sturges. Behind her visor, her optics were pleading.

Jabel and Yonkers rushed from behind the push level of the trolley to try and help. Jebel said something that Sturges couldn’t hear. Yonkers’ voice was panicked. “I smell _smoke!”_

 _Fallen Eagle_ had died – for the fifth time in less than forty-five minutes.

“God help me Gallagher, I am going to personally kick your goddamn _ass_ into the Dark Axis when this is all over,” Sturges shouted, turning around and grabbing the nearest hacksaw he could find: straight out of the hands of a stupefied looking maintenance GM. The mech sputtered and skittered backwards, taken aback by the sudden theft of his equipment.

Gallagher's face turned red. “If you touch that wall Wilson, I swear _to CHRIST_ —”

“Gabe, radio Chief Haro directly! I want this piece of shit fired _and_ I want this wall down in the next two minutes. _Fallen Eagle_ ’s delivery time is over the ETA!” Sturges swiveled on his heels, jogging over to the mech. Along with the smell, visible smoke was starting to smolder from cracks in the compromised plating, indicating that a small fire _had_ broken out somewhere inside. He leapt onto the carriage. “Tailgate, get the fire extinguisher from one of the gunperries. Corus, watch the vitals. I’m—”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” Gallagher went to shove his way over, but was stayed by the heat radiating from the fallen mech. “You’re not— that equipment belongs to—!”

Sturges straddled the mech. The smell of slowly burning rubber from his hazmat suit filled his nostrils. It was the worst smell he had ever had to endure in his life. He raised the power saw, revving it once – twice – before bringing it down.

Sparks flew. He wondered if _he_ would be fired for this, come to think of it. Mechs were made of metal and hardly human, but they still felt pain. If this wasn’t desecration of a legal “corpse,” would it be considered mutilation? The saw skimmed the armor pitifully, then dug deep into the partially melted plating with a worrying amount of ease. The entire mech’s exterior frame had been compromised when they fell, and the current consistency Sturges was reminded of ripping into aluminum foil when he was in grade school. He had to pull back on the saw with a great deal of effort to keep it from digging too deep, cutting as shallow of a square as possible into the lower torso and upper stomach, below the souldrive casing and the hollow abdominal steerage—

The metal, freed from the dead body, fell inward inside the shell with a _pop_ as Sturges finished cutting. Flames instantly rose from the interior, licking the air like writhing snakes. The MEMT team leader swore and leapt back, feeling the rubber around his thighs pull free from his suit: the part of the hazmat gear that made contact had directly melted to the mech’s legs. “Tailgate—”

The skittish GM beat him to it. Tailgate skidded over, sending a blast of extinguisher foam onto the mech. As the fire was tamed just enough for Sturges to reach in and pull the loose cut-out free, Tailgate blasted another wave of foam. Black smoke rose up from the mech’s internals. The engine block _had_ caught on fire, and there was another small fire burning further back. Tailgate went to spray it.

“No time!” Sturges knelt over the body, trying not to touch it while simultaneously swatting Tailgate away: he couldn’t risk more of his suit melting. He knew already that he was going to have second-degree burns on his legs. Adrenaline was the only thing that kept him going. “Gabe, give me the defibrillator!”

The younger man, still attempting to mess with his radio, tossed him the _entire_ thing.

“Jesus, Mary, and _Joseph—_!” Sturges barely had time to drop the saw in order to catch it, and even then, the whole apparatus nearly struck him in the face. As it fell, the saw went off (almost comically) and skittered away by its whirling blades. The maintenance GM whom he had taken it from chased after it like a clumsy toddler. Sturges fumbled with the device, plucking the pads from their holsters, before tossing the physical device itself to Corus. The femme had already put the CO2 tank down, catching the defibrillator and immediately messing with the controls to charge. Tailgate still stood to the side, extinguisher at the ready.

“Charge is set and ready to go, sir!” Corus didn’t sound confident. Sturges couldn’t blame her.

As soon as the pads made contact with the engine block, Sturges knew it was a losing battle. The block rattled, then there was a sharp _pang_. When they used the defibrillator before, the mech’s armor acted as a buffer. While the buffer was responsible for _Fallen Eagle_ ’s constant state of decay (their engine continually refused to hold a change for long enough to keep it stable), removing it meant the charge was doubled. The engine, unable to take the sudden increase in electrical capacity after being barraged so many times before, physically _cracked_. A fracture erupted along the once impressive machinery’s surface, as if someone had taken an entire sledgehammer to it. Oil instantly started leaking from a destroyed lubrication valve.

The mech jerked, jaws yawning wide as they suddenly _gasped_. Sturges could see the fire-scorched vents further back flare as the mech began “breathing” again. His shattered back arched. The alarm from the tablet started beeping once more, although irregularly.

“Engine online! RPM is— it’s starting to fail again, but we bought ourselves some time, sir!” Corus was sweating condensation.

Gabriel turned to them, dropping his radio away from his face. He looked pale. “Sturges! I—”

There was a rumble, followed by a tremendous _heave_ that shook the foundation of the entire hangar. Where the wall had started to get cut down, the outlines abruptly crumbled and pushed outwards. One shove, two... and then the entire wall came down. A massive tank (and that was exactly what it was, an entire _tank_ ) plowed the obstacle down as if it were made of paper, sending poor maintenance GMs scrambling for cover. Gallagher screamed and threw his hands up onto his head, aghast, as his beloved wall came crashing down.

“ _What in Sam Hill is going on!?”_ Sturges couldn’t initially be sure if it was the tank speaking, or whoever was piloting the thing from the inside. His questions were answered when a Gundam head suddenly pushed out of the top of the mechanical monstrosity, flashing a pair of bright green optics. Even in a new body, the base’s resident sergeant Gunbike still had an air that demanded immediate respect. “Get that sorry hunk of junk in here _pronto!_ Who the hell is Gallagher, disobeying direct orders!? When I get my servos on ‘im—!”

“Go! GO!” Sturges leapt off _Fallen Eagle_ , collapsing as soon as his feet hit the floor. His legs burned. His throat felt like it was on fire from directly inhaling all the hot air bursting through the mech’s chassis. He barely forced down the urge to pass out as his teammates looked back at him. “I SAID _GO!”_

Urgency hit them again, and Wilson Sturges watched Team Alpha – now five instead of six – run off through the new hole pushed aside in the wall. Jebel and Yonkers pushed the cart, Tailgate continued watching vitals, Corus held the CO2 tank, and Quinn stepped up and moved ahead of the group: acting in Sturges place. Maybe the younger man would make a decent MEMT leader, after all. He spared a glancing look over his shoulder at Sturges, then rushed on. Operation _Fallen Eagle_ was back on track.

As far as Sturges was aware, his role in the mission had been completed.

The next thing he knew, a woman was shaking his arm and trying to get him to sit up. He couldn’t remember lying down. “Hey, are you okay? Can someone call a doctor—!?”

Briefly, Wilson wondered if he made a difference – and if it really even mattered. Yeah, the hunk of debris on the cart had been a mech, but it had also been an important one: the same mech that led the invasion force on Neotopia several months prior. His own family had never been put in direct danger (they all lived on the far outskirts of the city in the country, where bagubagu never even came _close_ to petrifying the landscape), so maybe he was just biased. After all...

“Why?” Maybe it was Gallagher who asked. Maybe it was one of the bodies now swarming around him, trying to get him to stay conscious. The burns were starting to hurt now.

“It's in the job description,” Sturges said, then promptly passed out.

By the time their gunperry docked in the hangar, Commander Sazabi had died four times. Then he died a fifth time. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be a sixth.

 


	3. Elizabeth Keene

**I swallow the sound, and it swallows me whole,**

**‘till there’s nothing left inside my soul.**

**Louder than sirens, louder than bells.**

**Sweeter than heaven, and hotter than hell.**

_Drumming Song_  – Florence + The Machine

**i**

Her mother was a famous shuttle mechanic who worked in various space programs before her death, including the one that allowed Neotopia to be founded. Her father was a well-received doctor who worked in the city out of his own practice, still alive and readily practicing.

It was only natural that Elizabeth Keene, thirty-seven and a devoted mother of two, would embody the talents of both her parents and become a certified mech surgeon.

It was an important position, she thought. She originally went to school to practice human medicine but found herself bored with the realization of how  _mundane_  her career was going to be. There would be the occasional auto-pilot car accident, the old “slip and fall,” the sports concussion... but overall? Neotopia’s human populace was  _extremely_  healthy. There wouldn’t be any emergencies to attend to after graduation, and emergency-medicine was going to be her forte. Keene wanted some excitement in her life: she refused to be caught dead in a clinic giving vaccines to whiny adults.

She was intrigued when she took her first electoral workshop on mech-oriented “medicine.” More robots than humans worked in hazardous fields where injuries were likely to occur, and that was when the wheels in her head started churning. All the emergencies were  _there_. At the end of her first semester, she transferred schools and enrolled in a robot-hospital program. She wasn’t going to be just another mechanic. Where most mechanics worked on standard hardware like escalators and airships, robots were  _sentient_. They could feel pain, have emotions, engage in livelihoods of their own... becoming a robot doctor wasn’t just another dead end field.

When Keene graduated with the highest marks in her class (a doctorate for mechanical-surgery in hand), she got a letter in the mail from a man named Kao Lyn regarding a job offer. She had no idea how he got her information but called him anyways.

Now she worked for the Super Dimensional Guard.

The call to Operation  _Fallen Eagle_  had been a rushed one. Keene heard the neighbors panicking outside before she even spotted the first Doga Bombers zipping precariously over the city. She had been doing dishes at the time.  Having just finished dinner in the other room, her children were getting busy playing with the percussion set Selena had received for her tenth birthday. Once the television came on and the emergency broadcast system alerted everyone to stay in their homes, Keene immediately started getting ready. Working for the SDG as one of their head mechanical-surgeons, she  _knew_  she was going to get The Phone Call. There would be casualties somewhere, somehow, and she would be a necessary asset. She was the best they had, her day off be damned.

Tambourine in hand, Selena stood in the doorway of the master bedroom and watched as her mother got dressed. Keene could tell by the way her knuckles were turning white that she was  _terrified_ , and honestly? She couldn’t blame her. Selena remembered the Dark Axis invasion firsthand. She was smart enough to know that the reappearance of the Doga Bombers meant nothing but trouble. The bells of her instrument jingled as she shifted her weight nervously. In the other room, blissfully unaware to the looming danger, two-year-old baby Cameron continued playing with a cowbell in an off-beat banter. “Did a robot get hurt, mom? Did those mean flying robots hurt them?”

Keene slipped on her insulated scrubs and SDG embroidered jacket. Before leaving the room to retrieve her briefcase, she hugged her daughter close. Tightly. “I don’t know yet, sweetheart. I’ll find out soon.”

The nanny GM was already on their way to watch the children when her cellphone rang. The vibration feature nearly sent it tumbling over the countertop as it buzzed rhythmically. She barely let it finish its first cycle of chiming before snatching it off the edge, before it could fall.

“This is Doctor Elizabeth Keene,” she answered automatically. She had to walk into the next room: Cameron was still loudly going at it with the cowbell. “Super Dimensional Guard. How bad is it?”

She was surprised by the automated tone on the other end. She had only ever heard it once before, during the mission for Operation  _Flare Burst_. Black Directives were never good news.

_“This is an automated message for: ELIZABETH JUANITA KEENE. Attention: you have been assigned to a BLACK Directive. Operation codename: FALLEN EAGLE. Position: team leader. Please be advised: your pick-up will be by SDG gunperry in approximately EIGHT MINUTES. Full mission briefing will be received en route to BLANC BASE. Thank you for your cooperation.”_

The line went dead. Seven minutes later (less than thirty seconds after the nanny hurriedly arrived on her doorstep), there was the scream of gunperry turbines as the ship in question landed on her front lawn. She would have been escorted by unmarked car to a secure tarmac before the Dark Axis invasion. Now with the public more than aware of the Super Dimensional Guard’s existence, there was no need to waste time on secrecy. Having a direct pickup saved time in the end too: an element that was seldom on Keene’s side in this line of work.

She kissed her children goodbye. After making sure the door was locked behind her, she rushed out to meet her coworkers while still affixing her SDG badge. She was helped into the ship by a GM security guard, then handed a tablet with her full mission brief by a young communications officer who couldn’t have been a day over twenty. Keene began reading from the screen before the gunperry was even back in the air.

“Is the rest of the team already at Blanc Base?” she asked the C.O. as she adjusted her headset. Apart from the other woman and the adjacent security mech, Keene was the only one in the holding area. As she honed in on the correct frequency, she could already pick out frantic chatter from other radio channels. The communications sounded more and more alarming as she unwittingly listened in.

The C.O. nodded. The identification card pinned to her uniform was too far away to read across the hold. “Most staff who were already on duty were selected for this mission, but Kao Lyn wanted you personally. If anyone could save this mech, it’s you. It’s high priority.” 

Keene flipped through more slides on the tablet, feeling her chest and gut knot. The information she found herself looking at was messy at best, scribbled by hand and photographed rather than being an official scan. Even Operation  _Flare Burst_  had more organization that this. On top of that, she had never seen these kinds of plans before in her life. The part allocation for the mech’s internals were by “estimate only,” meaning this mech was _not_ a standard SDG unit. Her heart beat faster, a slowly rising drumbeat, as realization began to set in. Oh _no_. “This mech’s specs aren’t officiated. They aren’t even from a Gundam. This is alien.”

“He’s Axian, ma’am. Chatter on the radio suggests it’s Commander Sazabi.”

“ _Dear God_.” She resumed swiping through more of the confidential scans, a renewed vigor in the heartbeat rapidly pulsing in her ears. Everyone knew who the Commander was. Keene was even  _more_  familiar with his existence as a member of the SDG, though she never met him in person. No one really wanted to: not after what happened during the invasion. Apparently he went to Robo House after being apprehended on the Horn of War... then got dumped off with a “foster” family when he was deemed a lost cause. No one heard much from him after he was brought to his new home. Media outlets were forbidden from visiting the house (especially after a protest broke out on the front steps at one point). There had no new leaks regarding the Commander’s well doing since then, except to those few who were assigned to work with him. His cyberneurologist, for example.

The attached notes for the actual mission were hastily typed. It was a clear indication to the rushed severity of the incident, for sure. Three teams would be involved: including a Team Alpha for pickup and rescue procedures, Team Beta for cutting down a wall wide enough for Team Alpha to get through to the operating room (dubbed  _Eagle’s Nest)_ , and Team Omega. She was a member of the latter, which would perform emergency surgery to try and save the Commander. Kao Lyn desperately wanted this mech alive, that much was for certain.

The gunperry banked hard to the left. Keene could see more airships headed towards the city through the window. The flying Axians scattered to evade their pursuers, clearly disorganized. If they _had_ leadership directing them, it had long since dissolved. “Do we know what happened? Was he shot down by the Gundam Force?”

“We think he was shot down by the Doga Bombers?” The C.O. made a face as she spoke, looking confused at her own words.

“What? Are you sure?” Keene furrowed her brow. “Why would they shoot down one of their own guys?”

“Maybe he’s not one of their guys anymore,” the security GM suddenly said. Keene had almost forgotten he was even there. He never turned to look at either one of them, keeping his gaze locked on Neotopia’s metropolis through the port window.

The gunperry whirled on into the twilight, arching high above the clouds. The engine thrummed like war drums. Ever over its roar, Keene could hear sirens screaming in the colony capital below.

**ii**

Team Alpha was late by three minutes. Team Beta had choked. Every second on the clock counted, and all of Operation  _Fallen Eagle_  was rapidly turning into a disaster.

The delayed ETA at least gave Dr. Keene time to reevaluate the situation with her crew. She had been in far worse situations before. Salvaging the mission would go smoothly if she kept a cool head. There were ten personnel in the operating theater assigned to Team Omega: five humans and five GMs. Based on their team specs, they were the best medical employees that the SDG had to offer. The theater itself was the newest one inside Blanc Base too, made specifically for high-risk situations like this in the wake of Operation  _Flare Burst_. While Guneagle’s injuries managed to be highly treatable, the incident brought to light just how  _inadequate_ their previous surgery auditorium was. This one had high ceilings and apertures to properly vent smoke, suitable cooling tackles built directly into the operating slab, the best tools this side of the Andromeda system...

“One last time, everyone!” Keene’s voice carried over the large room like a speaker: she had to be loud. Between her team anxiously double and triple-checking their gear and tools, the theater was already a disordered mess of noise. It would only be worse when the MEMT team arrived with their payload (Keene planned to recruit them to her team as well, since they were already familiar with Fallen Eagle’s condition). Overhead, she could see the shadows of faces watching through the private viewing area. She wondered if Kao Lyn was one of them. While she was sure the leading SDG engineer would’ve been down there with her under any other circumstances, Black Directives under his command meant he had no choice but to oversee the project rather than actively participate. It came with the legal territory. She couldn’t blame him. “As soon as that mech comes through those doors, we’ll get him on the table for damage assessment and start hooking him up to vital-reading kits. Nobody touches  _anything_  until I start giving orders proper. Understood?”

There was an obedient resonance of “yes ma’am” that echoed throughout the room. Quick and on pointe:  _good_. She needed a team who could listen to her.

“We have a second emergency team waiting in the adjacent lobby in case anyone suffers injuries during treatment,” Keene continued. “This mech is reported to be  _hot,_ so make sure your heat-resistant suits and masks are on securely before he comes in. The air conditioning will kick into high-gear when the room reaches exactly ninety-degrees Fahrenheit. If anyone feels dizzy, immediately step back up against the wall and  _get out_. I don’t want anybody getting in the way, got it?”

Another obedient bark of “yes ma’am” from all the room’s members... minus two. One of them was another surgeon, Alexander Reichold. He was a tall blonde man with good credentials but poor bedside manner, currently scowling at a datapad with  _Fallen Eagle’s_  ”by estimate only” specs. Keene could tell that Reichold was going to be a problem. He was the head surgeon on duty before Keene was called in, and it was abundantly clear he was  _not_  happy about the sudden regime change. Keene was sure he was a good doctor... but she was better. Kao Lyn wouldn’t have called her in on her evening off, otherwise.

The second body that never answered was one of her nurses, a girl with strawberry-blonde pixie hair and freckled skin. Marianne Burghs, a recent college grad with  _extremely_  good marks, was standing at the bow of the room and looking through the windows of the swinging doors leading out of the theater. She unexpectedly gasped, looking back into the amphitheater with wide eyes. “Dr. Keene! We have contact down the hall! Team Alpha is arriving with the patient!”

“Everyone at your stations!” Keene immediately crossed the room to her assigned post: waiting directly beside the door to meet Team Alpha as they entered. Burghs scrambled away like a frightened woodland animal and the rest of the team got into position. Keene’s mouth felt dry and her heart was racing. Her ears were ringing like bells. “ _Fallen Eagle_  is in the  _Eagle’s Nest!”_

The doors swung open.

The first thing to assault her senses was the  _heat_. As soon as the doors were open, she was mercilessly blasted by it. It suffocated the air so severely that Keene was briefly taken aback and almost forgot to do her job. She reigned in hold of her senses as she rushed alongside the cart, cutting between two GM MEMTs who were messing with their own equipment. One was carrying a tank attached to a tube insecurely shoved down the mech’s throat, the other was reading vitals on an abused looking tablet. The two additional GMs pushing the cart looked ready to collapse from exhaustion.

“Give me a status report.” Keene kept her voice demanding: she wanted it established that she was absolutely the one in control of the situation.

The only human in Team Alpha (wasn’t there supposed to be another one?) immediately spoke up. His voice was collected but shook with effort. “ _Fallen Eagle_  is Commander Sazabi, age unknown, weighing at six hundred and fourteen pounds. Build is Axian with flight capabilities, previously constructed as an offensive-grade tyrant-class mech. He was stripped to civilian rank two while retaining flight capabilities and a custom security bolt from Robo House. According to the initial-contact crew, he was in an aerial fight with the Doga Bombers and another unknown Axian. He went too high for radar to track him, then came crashing down with enough speed to break the sound barrier. They thought he was dead when they found him. Then he started moving.”

“Is he conscious?” Dr. Keene tried looking at Sazabi’s face, but his head was rolling too unsteadily to get a proper look. His optic was lolled, slack, in the back of his partially destroyed helm: dark and shattered and lifeless. It was amazing that his head was even as intact as it was. His jaw was broken, most of the protective casing on the left side of his face was shattered, the cables in his visor bank (connecting the optic to the attached “swiveling” component that made Axians immediately identifiable) were shredded and encased with dirt... “Did you start administering analgesics?”

The other man shook his head. “We don’t know, and we _couldn’t_. Sazabi won’t respond to standard tests. He appeared awake upon arrival but seemed to pass out when we loaded him onto the gunperry. We have no idea what his energy-metabolic rate is, so we couldn’t risk giving him anything. Not without a proper evaluation by you, ma’am.”

It was the kind of legal ground that Keene was afraid of running into. Robots in Neotopia were sentient and lawfully had the right to receive the same level of medical professionalism that their human counterparts did: access to anesthetics and other painkillers included. Unlike for humans, mech-oriented sedatives contained microscopic magnetic filings and electric-dampening particles to block pain receptors from firing off to the associated sensor nodes. Considering the amount of damage Sazabi had sustained, if he woke up... Keene knew the pain would be _astronomical_. “When we get him on the table, prep three liters of liquid sedative and keep it to the side. If he’s unconscious there’s no need to administer anything, but if he wakes up...”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of her GM nurses already getting to work. She rushed to the chem-station and began prepping.

“What else is there?” Keene asked. Judging by the look on the MEMT worker’s face, there was more.

“Sazabi has been having small seizures on and off due to engine-failure since pickup,” the man continued, sparing a worried glance at one of the GMs pushing the cart when he stumbled. “We’ve given him four stacks of de-fib treatment through his external armor, one stack of de-fib with his casing cut open—”

As they rolled the trolley over to the center of the theater, an alarm started to scream from the tablet the one MEMT mech was holding. The sole human member of Team Alpha hit a button on the trolley’s push lever and the entire platform started to rise. True to word, Sazabi’s chest  _had_  been cut open. His internals were visible, as well as an increasingly thick funnel of smoke rising from within. The theater fire alarm started to go off, cutting off only when the exhaust fans kicked into gear.

“Who authorized that?” Keene shot an accusing look at the presumed leader of Team Alpha. “You could have hit something!”

“Wilson Sturges, ma’am.” The other man’s voice audibly quaked. “There was a large fire that broke out under the armor and we could smell it. Team Beta was holding us up and we couldn’t proceed as normal with the delivery mission. Sturges acted according to training to preserve  _Fallen Eagle_  as long as possible.”

“Where is Sturges now?”

“Still upstairs. He was hurt during the procedure. I’ve taken over as team leader in his absence.”

So there  _were_  supposed to be six members in Team Alpha, not five. Keene was down from sixteen to fifteen... and then thirteen. The mechs pushing the cart were blatantly too tired to continue. They would have to retreat to the next room with the rest of the standby team to get treatment themselves. “The mechs pushing the trolley can go rest up in the other room. I’m recruiting you and the rest of your squad to Team Omega in the meantime. Understood?”

The other man briefly fumbled over his words, taken aback. He straightened himself out fairly quickly. “Yes ma’am. Absolutely.”

The GMs who had been pushing the makeshift stretcher looked up, visibly tired. The one closest to Keene looked like he was going to collapse. “Quinn?”

The man, Quinn, waved them off. “You and Jebel get some rest, Yonkers. We’ll take it from here. Go!”

The mechs didn’t hesitate. Not wanting to get in the way, they pulled back and made a hasty retreat.

“What’s in the tank?” Keene asked.

“CO2,” the GM with the canister in question said. It wouldn’t be until later that Keene learned her name was Corus. She was struggling with the tank as she tried to get around from between the surgery slab and the trolley. “He won’t cycle his cooling vents on his own, and he won’t stop burning up inside. We needed to force cool air into his system without resorting to oxygen. CO2 was determined by our team leader to be the safest route.”

“Engine EKG is reading at forty watts less than when we first made contact with him,” another one of the MEMT GMs said. Keene recognized him as Tailgate: she had worked with him before during Operation  _Flare Burst_. He began reading off from the datapad he was guarding. “We’ve been trying to get it back up but he keeps slipping. Processor EKG has been zero this entire time. We won’t know why until we crack his head open and get a look at the damage. He has a souldrive but we haven’t been able to get a look at it, either. The armor around the seal partially melted and welded it shut. Coolant pressure is less than five pounds per square inch. Given his mass it should be around eighty. It either bled out or evaporated in the heat.”

The trolley with their patient hissed to a stop, reaching its greatest height. The mech’s helm rolled unsteadily. He was starting to shudder again, clearly on the verge of another engine stall. Keene moved to the opposite end of the table as everyone from her original team moved into position. Long, heat-resistant polymer strips were passed from the bodies working opposite of the trolley to the others alongside the proper surgical table. The MEMT crew moved out of the way to allow for easier access. The femme with the CO2 tank stayed where she was, keeping it under her arm while she reached out with her free hands to support the dying mech’s head.

In less than five seconds all the straps were in place. Keene raised her voice, speaking in a quick beat. “On my mark. One, two,  _go!”_  

Six hundred pounds of dead weight was  _not_  easy to lift. Yet, with the aid of some of the more fortified GMs and everyone’s adrenaline rushing, they were able to slide the fading Axian to the surgical slab. As soon as he was on the cool surface it  _hissed_ , steam ominously rising from its surface. Those closest to the Axian went to work hooking up vital-readers. The rest of the team jointly shoved the stretcher into the room’s furthest corner and did away with the transfer-strap belts.

As soon as reading tethers were properly plugged into the mech, alarm sirens started to _shriek_. Not good.

One of the GM nurses started to read off the numbers. “Processor is reading a total EKG of zero, there’s no functionality whatsoever! All system drivers are running off... I can’t tell  _what_  they’re running off of! The electrical influx in still functional circuits is approximately fifteen hundred watts. We’re dropping point three watts every two seconds—”

“Engine is starting to stall again. Oil life is zero percent! It’s either all drained or burned up choking the pistons like the MEMT team said!”

“Core temperature is three hundred degrees Celsius. External temperature is rising to one hundred Celsius!”

“We’re out of CO2, he can’t  _breathe_ —!”

“I can’t get a read on any damage report from any system diagnostic relay, there’s zero activity relaying from his processor  _period!”_

“God— get this guy under  _ice!”_ Keene immediately threw her hands out over the mech, gesturing broadly to the majority of her team. There was a drumming noise inside her head and it was throwing her to the ground, and she was damn well going to hit the ground  _running_. “This is the real show, folks: no more code names. We have  _Commander Sazabi_  on our table and we’re going to do everything in our power to make sure he doesn’t die here tonight. Someone get to work cutting open the souldrive chamber so we can see if the device is still intact. Team Alpha, prop his head up and start cutting the backplate open. We need to look at his processor and scope the damage right away. And someone  _please_  intubate him with a proper rig and conditioned air! If we manage to get him to cool down while we’re still pumping C02, we’ll cause lines to freeze completely.”

There was no bark of “yes ma’am” this time around: everyone did as they were told, no questions asked. Even Reichold, who she thought was going to drag his feet, started moving to retrieve ice bags with the others. 

“Someone give me a flashlight so I can see into this guy’s chest,” Keene demanded. She had to move, too.

An industrial torch was immediately passed to her from across the table. She didn’t bother to see who it was. So many bodies were rushing around her now, it was hard to focus on who was who. Standing up on a platform next to the surgical slab with another nurse wordlessly spotting her, Keene aimed the beam inside.

The mech’s internals were a  _disaster_ : it was easilythe worst damage she had seen in any mech to date. The once impressive engine block was charred and nearly cracked clear in half, uselessly spilling motor oil into the chassis main chamber where it baked and stunk to high heaven in the heat. The alternator that was supposed to be attached to the engine was no longer even  _there_ , likely jarred loose upon impact and sent tumbling into the mess of burst tubes and upturned parts. The timing belt was sputtering and flapping miserably, the crankshaft was unrecognizable, wires had their rubber casing melted clean off exposing naked copper fillings... Keene could see the mech’s backstrut in the foreground, jagged and completely shattered in multiple places. There was a fire burning in the back where the main battery core used to be too, now completely blown to pieces. The suspension in the joints she  _could_  see further down were completely destroyed, the boiler was burst open, the blade of a busted cooling fan was embedded deep inside the fragmented fuel tank...

All of _that_ was what she could see straight away, based on a first-glance basis _only_. Sazabi was a dead mech. It was only a matter of time... but she still had a job to do. Futile as it may have been...

“Damn,” Keene echoed shallowly, dismayed. No matter what she did this mech was not going to live, and yet she still had to _try_. It was depressing. “Catherine?”

Catherine Hodges, her head nurse and technical second-in-command, looked up from her work. She was the one cutting into the melted armor around the Commander’s souldrive compartment. Keene didn’t recognize her until she lifted up the welder mask to expose her face. “Dr. Keene?”

“I’m going to need a second pair of hands for this. We’ll need to remove most of the vital hardware and put him on a permanent ventilator _and_ backup systems. The engine is shot to hell and everything else looks unsalvageable, too. Once he’s stabilized, we can run an analysis on the parts to see if they can be accurately replaced.”

Hodges nodded. “Absolutely. I’ll get this panel open and we’ll go forward from there.”

“If he even _survives_ ,” the nurse spotting Keene said. She realized it was Burghs, the recent college grad. She looked pale. Horrified. Keene couldn’t blame her. She knew he was already dead, too.

“Let me know when you get his head open,” Keene said offhand to the MEMT team, raising her voice over the mayhem. In the meantime, several aides came back with bags of ice: placing them around the Axian in key locations. Keene could already see them melting as soon as they made contact with the table. The cooling equipment in the slab couldn’t keep up with Sazabi’s demanding, overheated frame. “We need to see how bad his processor looks as soon as possible. If it looks too damaged, we’ll try to re-claim whatever we can. A black box, memory banks, data chips,  _anything_.”

Reichold, who had been usually quiet, suddenly took the opportunity to insert his opinion. He gave off a brusque air he marched over, holding one of the tablets showing the dying mech’s hastily cobbled blueprints – if they could even be called that. “We don’t even have proper specs on this guy. _By estimate only_ my _ass_. How can we expect to retrieve so much as his personality core without knowing how any of his coding _works?_ For all we know, he doesn’t even  _have_  proper backup modules. Not like any that we could work with!”

Keene glared at him. “Do you have any better ideas, Reichold?”

He hesitated. “I... well _no—”_

“Then we make the plan up as we go. We don’t have a choice.”

“I got the souldrive compartment open,” Hodges said, putting down her hacksaw. She started to peel away the ruined piece of metal covering the module. It came loose with a frail scraping sound, and Hodges fully pulled it back with a level of ease that was worrying. They were in _serious_ trouble if the entire integrity of the mech’s superstructure was like that. Eerie, dim light seeped out from the secure partition as the souldrive was exposed for the entire theater. The rings were no longer spinning, resting at the bottom of its rotunda stall. The flame was barely even visible in the misty sphere, but it was throwing off heat like a small goddamn _sun_. Hodges jerked her hands back as the violate thing nearly burned through her gloves. The room’s air conditioning kicked into an even higher gear as the heat pushed outwards, finally able to escape its dying prison. Keene couldn’t tell _why_ it was throwing off such a high temperature in its seemingly inactive state. Despite that, the sphere was the only thing Keene had seen that was otherwise undamaged.

“At least his souldrive is in one piece,” Keene mused. It was the first piece of good news for Sazabi all night.

Crowding around the Commander’s now-propped helm, the MEMT crew from Team Alpha managed to pry a piece of loose plating free. Again, the amount of ease they had was concerning. Keene could see Tailgate shine a flashlight inside as the square cutaway was disposed of. The three MEMTs visibly froze. The femme, Corus, spoke up with a trembling voice. “Dr. Keene... we know why we can’t get a reading on his processor now.”

There was an air of alarm to her tone that made Keene’s skin crawl under her scrubs. Even if she knew Sazabi was going to die regardless, the whole situation was still disturbing her. She looked over, watching as the MEMT team stood with matching expressions of horror by the mech’s propped head. They were staring at  _something_ , and it wasn’t with any hint of confidence. Keene carefully maneuvered around the other bodies in the room to make her way over. “How bad is it?”

“This...” the sole human MEMT, Quinn, was shaking his head in disbelief. “This isn’t possible.”

Keene rounded the corner of the surgical slab and followed their line of sight. She felt her heart lurch in her throat, drumming viciously. Alarm bells rang in her brain as she tried to process _exactly_ what she was looking at... which was barely anything at all.

There was absolutely  _nothing_   _left_ of the Commander’s processor – literally his entire brain was just _gone_. The inside of the mech’s had been reduced to nothing more than melted circuit panels and wires. Where the CPU used to be was now to molten metal. The motherboard was shattered into a million pieces, the RAM unit was burned to a crisp, liquefied rubber was dripping from the entrance of the hole the MEMT team had cut open...

The Commander wasn’t just dying – he was braindead. Hell, there wasn’t even a “brain” left to speak of. Now the zero readings for his processor EKG made sense. But this still wasn’t possible. It  _couldn’t_  be possible.

“If he’s braindead,” Keene said outload for everyone to hear, “then why the hell is he still trying to  _live?”_

The unanswered question hung in the air like the smell of burning oil, but a reply never came: Commander Sazabi started to crash  _hard_. Several alarms began screaming all at once in a run of quarter-notes on a measure, followed by the grievously hurt Axian arching his back and snapping his jaws open _wide_. Keene had never seen a more terrifying maw in her life, and hoped to never see one again for as long as she lived. Sazabi struggled to suck in air with the intubation tubing in place, sputtered... and then the inside of the tube swelled black. After suffering through a fit of wet coughs, dark liquid sputtered from his mouth as he began to choke on his own fluids (whatever kind of fluid it even was, it smelled _foul_ ). Two more alarms went off. A light began flashing red on the console nearest to Keene.

Tailgate called out frantically. “He’s seizing!”

It was one of the worst seizures Keene had ever seen a mech endure: especially for a mech who didn’t have a functioning processor. At this rate, any movements he made had to be a result of latent sensor nodes firing off as they short-circuited. Sazabi arched his back again and began to spasm uncontrollably, armor clanking on the tabletop with enough force to dent the solid chrome surface. The Axian’s engine attempted to rev in an attempt to save itself, struggling desperately to keep its dying body from completely giving out from its own energy expenditure...

Sazabi collapsed under his own weight. All the monitors flat-lined at once as he finally died.

“ _Get me the crash cart!_ ” Keene leapt back onto the platform she had been standing on before to look into the mech’s chest, gesturing wildly to one of the carts further back in the theater. “Code blue! Give me a charge for one thousand!”

“We’ve already brought him back five times!” Quinn shouted, backpedaling to the stern of the room and grasping the cart in question. He hastily wheeled he device over as another nurse started messing with the machine’s console, prepping a charge. “His engine block cracked the last time we gave him de-fib! His body can’t take handle revivals without risk for irreversible damage!”

“He’s not coming back from the dead anytime soon unless we do  _something!”_  Keene took the paddles but felt her insides clench. _He was right._ The engine block was nearly non-functional as it was, almost cleaved straight in two. Another charge applied directly to its surface would either cause a micro-explosion (assuming there was still fuel left to burn, which there was thankfully barely) or deepen the crack. But she had to try  _something_. Her pulse was rushing in her head as a drumroll.

“Charge set,” she announced. “Clear!”

She brought the paddles down. All six hundred pounds of scalding Axian  _jerked_ , shaking the foundation of the table and the entire room with it. The souldrive flashed, then went completely dark. It finally ceased radiating that horrible heat.

The engine choked, sputtered, and did not restart whatsoever. The RPM monitor continued to flatline. Its tone was unforgiving.

Shit.

 _”Shit!”_ Keene started rubbing the panels again. She had no idea why she even bothering now: she knew this mech was dead. He was dead before he was even _legally_ dead. But something inside her had worked itself into a frenzy. Commander Sazabi of the Dark Axis invasion fleet or not, he had so far defied all the odds. She had to give him a shot. She _had to. This was worth trying to save._ “Give me a charge up to two thousand! Start manual piston compressions and hook up the jumper cables to the emergency battery!”

Reichold sputtered, bewildered. “There’s not even an emergency battery left in him to hook up to! There’s nothing left, Elizabeth!”

“If we can’t get this next charge to work, we’ll try to stimulate what’s left of the engine’s sparkplugs. Double the efforts to try and figure out if he has a black box or recording module or  _anything!_ We  _have_  to salvage his A.I. and core memories!”

This time, there was no echo of “yes ma’am.” No one moved. The nurses, doctors, and MEMT members all looked at one another.

Hodges’ voice was soft. Keene almost didn’t hear her over the alarm bells. “There’s nothing  _left_ , Lizzie.”

The familiar beep of the crash cart resonated, following by the machine’s fully charged thrumming. At least the femme working the cart’s controls was still doing her job. The beat of the entire operating theater was coming together in a final crescendo. The charge was ready.

“Clear!” Keene hesitated, then brought the pads back down.

The mech jerked stiffly, part of the intubation tubing coming loose. He continued to flatline with no change in his condition. To her, that final twitch was almost in slow motion.

Keene didn’t move.

For what felt like a very long time, she stared down at the motionless Axian. No one else was moving, either. Time froze, suspended, as she surveyed the final scene. The monstrous heat from Sazabi’s body was already beginning to ebb away. His head was rolled back as if he were recharging (the angle was unnatural though, his neck was most likely broken). For the first time since he showed up in the lab, the Commander looked... what? Peaceful? As peaceful as one could look with most of their insides exposed, maybe. And most of their body destroyed beyond repair.

Commander Sazabi was gone.

“I’m calling it.” Dr. Keene said, pulling the paddles back. The steady drumming and ringing in her ears was beginning to subside. Her insides tightened as the words passed her lips. She kept staring down at the dead mech she failed to save, feeling dread slowly rising up throughout her. Yes, this part of the job was the worst. But they gave it their best shot. As violent and awful this mech’s past was, they did the right thing by trying to save him. Netopia preached _peace_ above all else. They gave him a shot at it. Now they were giving him the _ultimate_ “peace” by letting him go. He had suffered enough. “This is inhumane. We can’t continue.”

The room began to slowly quiet. It took Keene a moment to realize it was from one of the MEMT members, Corus, shutting off different readers. One by one, different alarms started to silence themselves. Engine RPM readers, battery-life monitor, fluid gauges, the processor EKG, heating alarms... as the last of the machines was turned off, even the air conditioning whirled to a standstill. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as white noise.

Commander Sazabi was dead.

One of the other doctors removed his mask, swearing. Another nurse turned away and leaned over the sink, mentally exhausted.

“What a waste of time,” Reichold said. Keene wanted to punch him, but he only reminded her that her job still wasn’t done.

“Can I get the time?” Dr. Keene looked up and glanced around the room. She had to tear her gaze away from the Commander. They had a state-of-the-art theater to work with, and for the love of her, she couldn’t even remember where the goddamn clock was. Her eyes finally passed over it underneath the viewing window in the private seating area. For the first time since being there, she saw Kao Lyn. He was seated in one of the chairs, unnaturally still and unmoving with his face in his hands.

“Time of death is approximately ten forty-eight P.M. Start clean-up. I’ll inform next-of-kin.”  

**iii**

Out from the ICU of the hospital’s robot-care subsection, it was only a short walk and elevator ride to the “human” half of the medical wing. While separate-but-equal was hardly a clause that worked throughout human history, the fact remained that human and mech “medicine” were two very separate beasts and needed to be kept apart. Humans required sterile environments to be protected from harmful germs. Mechs needed reinforced walls to be protected from extremely harmful explosions. Keene usually never had to walk this far out of her own territory, though. Most patients she received had families waiting for them in designated waiting rooms in the mech-section of the hospital wing.

It was a rare occasion that the human family of one of her patients was  _also_ a patient.

The lounge of the human-oriented waiting area was painted a soothing grey, spotted with potted plants and a tall metal fountain with slow moving water down a vertical slab. It was amazing how quickly they were able to fix the interior of Blanc Base after it fell, Keene thought. The room was hardly constructed to survive dropping out of the sky, but then again, its purpose was hardly that to begin with. It was made to be calming. Evidence to that point was clear when Keene spotted a tall, delicate looking woman sitting by a low arched window overseeing the city below. In her arms was a sleeping baby swaddled in a security blanket. The woman looked ready to fall asleep herself.

Dr. Keene took a deep breath, walking over and mentally going over the SPIKES steps in her head.

SPIKES was a common acronym used in hospital environments – mech  _or_  human oriented – to break bad news to patients and their families. Keene was already well-rounded in its practice: she had been in this situation many times before. The first time she ever used SPIKES had been with the family of a GM who had gotten hit by a freight carrier. The family had been on a picnic when their youngest son stumbled away, running into the road while flying a kite. The mech had dashed out to save him, shoving him aside seconds before the clueless driver could run him down. The mech died on the operating table before Keene could have a crack at him. The family was devastated. Keene was able to use SPIKES to navigate the interview with ease, getting her in and out of the private waiting room so that the family could grieve at their own pace.

The first step of SPIKES was SETTING UP. Keene had already arranged for a private interview room down the hall and had tissues in her coat pocket. The next phase would be to sit this woman down and try to make some kind of connection with her: something that would ground her in the now and get both of them to sympathize with each other. The baby would have to do. If this woman had gone through everything the  _Fallen Eagle_ briefing said she did... well, it would be solid ground to gain footing on.

Dr. Keene cleared her voice, coming to a stop next to the woman. “Keiko Ray?”

The dark haired woman jumped, swiveled her head around... then quickly stood up. She wavered on her feet. “Yes? You’re...?”

“My paperwork has you listed as the primary contact of Mr. Sazabi.” Keene was almost shocked by how composed the other woman looked. Her face was smeared with soot, her hair was in a tussle, and her skirt and blouse were ripped. She looked like she had been through hell and back. It took Keene another moment to realize this was the same woman who stood up to Sazabi on the Horn of War during the initial invasion, along with the mayor and another young girl. _This_ was the woman who took Sazabi in? She wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or highly intimidated. “My name is Doctor Elizabeth Keene. I was the head surgeon assigned to Sazabi’s case this evening... is this your daughter? Nanako?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Ray smiled tiredly. Her expression slowly shifted to one of confusion. “How did you know her name?”

“It was in my mission brief.” Keene offered. “I had time to review the background information before getting to the operating room. Did Sazabi really rescue her?” 

“Yes. That awful red Zako from the original invasion showed up and he...” She trailed off, looking down at her daughter with a strange look. Mrs. Ray seemed haunted. “He attacked me at my home when Sazabi was gone. He waited to attack until I sent Sazabi on an errand to get  _groceries_. That horrible robot took Nana and set the house on fire, but Sazabi  _got her back.”_

A bell chimed in the back of Keene’s brain, and none too kindly. Sazabi had rescued an  _infant_ leading up to his accident. She thought about her own children still at home. Camerom was probably crying because she wasn’t there to tuck him in herself. Selena was probably sneaking watching the news coverage on the television in her room, wondering if everything was going to be okay. “I have a young son as well. He just turned two. I also have a daughter who just turned ten. I couldn’t imagine what my state of mind would be if something like this happened.” 

“It’s a good thing we had Sazabi here,” Mrs. Ray offered again. Her expression lifted as she spoke. “If he wasn’t...” 

“Is your husband here with you?” Keene didn’t want to stall too much. Her heart was beating faster again, in half-notes on a snare. Delaying the inevitable wasn’t going to benefit Keiko Ray.

“Mark stepped out to speak with the doctors for a bit. He’s been gone for quite a while... oh, Sazabi hasn’t given you  _too_  much trouble has he?” Mrs. Ray almost seemed... apologetic? “I mean, I know he took a nasty fall, but if he’s rude to you I’ll give him a stern talking to. He knows better than that.”

Keene wasn’t sure how to react. It was like speaking to another mother at a PTA meeting, specifically about an unruly child who refused to play nicely with others. “Mrs. Ray, we should sit down.”

“I actually feel better standing,” Keiko said, bouncing the sleeping baby in her arms. “Mark should be back any moment. It might make him feel better to see me up, too. He was awfully worried when we were brought in...”

This was going to be difficult. SPIKES was already in minor jeopardy, but Keene knew she could recover. There was no one else in the room – it was already relatively private. Keene hesitated, then took her chances sitting down. In spite of her prior refusal, Mrs. Ray followed suit. Good. The next step could go underway assessing Mrs. Ray’s PERCEPTION. Before telling a patient or their worried family members anything, she would ask questions to be sure they fully understood the gravity of the situation. Medical findings, procedures... Keene was certain this would go better than the first step. “Mrs. Ray, as I’m sure it was already explained to you, Mr. Sazabi had to be extracted from the hillside and rushed back to Blanc Base through the means of something called a Black Directive. Since you’ve been here, have you heard  _any_  talk about Operation  _Fallen Eagle_?”

“I— no?” Keiko looked less confident now. “Is... is something wrong? A Black Directive sounds so serious.”

“Black Directives are used solely for the extraction of... severely injured mecha.” Dr. Keene didn’t dare used the word  _killed_. Not yet. “Mr. Sazabi was hurt  _very_ badly when he fell. He broke the sound barrier and slammed into the hillside at almost eight hundred miles per hour.”

Mrs. Ray went quiet. She had stopped bouncing the baby, who was now starting to wake up. The infant turned her head to face Keene and gurgled tiredly. She had a gauze bandage placed just above her right eye and a small brace on her wrist. When Mrs. Ray next spoke, her voice was quieter. “I... I knew he fell, but I didn’t think he fell  _that_  fast.”

“He appeared to be awake on site but unconscious when we airlifted him to Blanc Base in critical condition,” Keene said warningly, testing the waters. She watched the other woman’s face carefully, gauging for any negative reaction whatsoever.

She never got it. Mrs. Ray kept her voice controlled, going back to bouncing the baby. “I’m sure Sazabi won’t be feeling well when he wakes up, then. I mean...  _is_  he awake?”

The step in the direction of PERCEPTION was failing as well. Keene had never had this happen before. Was this woman really so clueless about how  _bad_  the situation had been? Her only hope for salvaging this meeting was to move on to the third step: INVITATION. If she could invite this woman into wanting  _more_  information, she could settle any confusion that had already manifested. “Mrs. Ray, would you like me to walk you through the procedure we performed?”

“Yes, absolutely.” Mrs. Ray slowed bouncing the baby, if only ever so slightly. “ _Is_  he awake?”

“No,” Dr. Keene said, clipped. “Sazabi was brought into my operating room with severe engine failure and an extreme core temperature. While the heat wasn’t enough to melt metal immediately, extended exposure caused... permanent damage to Mr. Sazabi’s internal components. The emergency medical team that transported him from the hillside to my operating room restarted his engine five times. One of those times, they had to cut his chassis open to extinguish a fire caused by broken oil lines. He had severe internal hemorrhaging—”

Mrs. Ray’s eyes went wide. She stopped bouncing the baby. “He... he had  _heart_  failure? He was bleeding?”

“He also wouldn’t vent air on his own,” Keene said, glancing down at her paperwork. She wasn’t actually reading it: she already had all the information memorized. “The medics at the crash site hooked him up to a CO2 tank to flush cold, non-flammable gas past his vents to keep them open and functional. He was so hot that we couldn’t risk giving him something as flammable as oxygen. CO2 gas is heavy and uncomfortable for most mechs to cycle, but it was the only option—”

“He was hurt that  _badly_?” Mrs. Ray’s voice was a barely audible echo. “No one told me.”

“I’m afraid so.” Dr. Keene reached down into her lab coat for the tissues, then hesitated. It was too soon. She had to watch herself. “Most of his internal components were destroyed in the crash. The only intact piece of hardware was his souldrive.”

“How are we going to fix it?” Mrs. Ray’s voice had gotten even softer. The true gravity of the situation was beginning to sink in, but not entirely. Not enough. Not yet. “ _How?”_

“There’s nothing more my team can do,” Dr. Keene tried. She was beginning to encroach on the next and worst step: KNOWLEDGE.

Amazingly, Mrs. Ray still didn’t seem to understand. If she did, she was stubbornly refusing to relent. Denial was one of the first stages of grief. Keene had seen it dozens of times before. “Maybe if your team can patch him up as best they can, I can look after him until he gets better. If he’s still hurt, a little bit of recovery time will let him get his strength back. At least he won’t have to worry about weeding the garden for a bit—”

“Mrs. Ray,” Keene said, struggling to keep her voice steady. This was getting out of hand. In the back of her mind she saw Sazabi again, lying lifeless on the table, and the sound of the alarm bells as they were silenced one by one. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Mr. Sazabi passed away about ten minutes ago. There was nothing we could do.”

As soon as the word  _loss_  left her lips, Keene could see Mrs. Ray’s skin pale. She already had a lovely marble complexion, but this was unnatural. Sickly. Her eyes looked glassy and faraway before, and the distant stare only intensified in her silence. She had completely stopped bouncing the baby, who was looking more and more agitated. She swatted at her mother and started to whine: a sure prelude to a brewing temper tantrum. It was time for the next step: to gauge Mrs. Ray’s EMOTIONS and swiftly address them.

 ”I am legally obligated to tell you under the Full Disclosure Act that Mr. Sazabi likely suffered a great deal. As we were unable to gauge any acceptable dosage for pain management, none was administered. Fortunately, he wouldn’t have remembered anything. His processor was entirely destroyed during the crash.” Dr. Keene kept her voice from wavering. She had made this same speech hundreds of times before, but something  _this time_  was different. Her heart was drumming painfully. She continued to watch the other woman’s face for something emotional to grab onto. “We attempted two revivals on the operating table, but trying for a third was deemed too cruel. Myself and my team offer our deepest condolences.”

Keiko’s voice suddenly cut in, broken and shaking. “He’s... dead? Sazabi  _died?_ ”

“We will arrange for counseling sessions if you want to speak with someone. We can also smelt the remains and return them to you within seventy-two hours if—”

“Oh my  _god_.” Mrs. Ray’s voice cracked. Her free hand flew up over her mouth as she stared at Keene – but not really _at_ her – with wide eyes. She was starting to shake. Keene could see her face flush, her eyes welling with tears, her face flushed with a sudden onslaught of emotion... the baby must have detected it too, because she started to cry as well. The infant clutched and swatted at her mother’s already scorched blouse irritably.

Trying to get to the last step, SUMMARY, seemed impossible. “Mrs. Ray, I know this is an extremely difficult time for you, but please—”

“Please just  _go_.” Mrs. Ray gritted her teeth and ducked her head low, starting to rock. It wasn’t being done to comfort the baby. Her voice slowly began to rise in volume until it cracked into barely restrained sobs. “I—I’m so sorry, please just... just leave me alone,  _please_. I can’t think. I can’t— I can’t believeI  _did this_.  _I did this! He’s DEAD and it’s all my FAULT!”_  

Keene reached into her pocket and hit a silent alarm on her pager: a quiet plea for help. Hopefully someone from the human-wing of the hospital would show up soon to help with this poor woman. “Mrs. Ray, this was _not_ your fault—”

“MARK!?” The increasingly distraught woman looked up, eyes teary and wild. She looked on the cusp of a panic attack. “ _MARKUS! MARKUS NIGEL RAY,_ GET BACK _IN_ HERE!”

The baby started  _screaming_. Red-faced and infuriated, she swatted at her mother again. And again. Over and over she pounded on her mother’s chest, like a mallet on a timpani.

With her hand still on the pager in her pocket, Keene felt it buzz back. Someone was now paging  _her_.

A man suddenly came bounding around the corner. Keene briefly hoped that it was Mrs. Ray’s missing husband, but the white uniform revealed it was another SDG doctor. He looked at Keene worriedly, then turned his attention fully to Mrs. Ray. “Keiko? Keiko, what’s wrong—”

“I  _killed_  him!” Mrs. Ray was sobbing uncontrollably. Tears streaked down her cheeks. She was being illogical, of course she didn’t kill him, but grief didn’t leave room for proper reasoning or evaluation. Grief didn’t leave room for anything other than crushing airlessness and spiraling uncertainty. She was rightfully devastated. “I should have held onto Nana, I should have warned him about the red Zako, I—”

It took Keene a moment to realize her pager was going off again, over and over, sending menacing pinpricks through her palms and up her arm. She spared the other doctor a quick glance, then stood up and moved backward. Engaging in any further conversation with Keiko was impossible now. She reached into her coat pocket and produced the pager: twelve separate pings in less than two minutes.

What?

 _“DR. KEENE!”_  At first she thought it was Keiko shouting for her, but that was impossible: the heartbroken woman was still crying uncontrollably behind her. So was the baby. The voice also came from the wrong direction. From the doorway she had come through that led to the mech-wing, Marianne Burghs skidded to a halt and nearly tripped. Her skin was shiny with perspiration. There was a thick, black liquid staining the front of her scrubs.

Keene stared.

Burghs was nearly in tears herself.  _”Get back in the operating room NOW!”_

 

**iv**

Never in her career had Dr. Elizabeth Keene  _ever_  offered a misdiagnosis. Especially one as blatant as goddamn  _death_.

Mechs were predictable. In the end, regardless of sentience, they were still machines at their core. Human bodies were capable of doing amazing things, but robots were  _safe_. Robots had to follow set laws of physics. Being manmade, they were only capable of performing “miracles” within a set range of parameters. Humans could survive hopeless odds and stupefy their doctors. Mechs could not. When switching between schools, it was the main difference between human-medicine and mech-medicine that was preached to her over and over.

Which was amazing considering Commander Sazabi, who had been  _very_  dead, was suddenly thrashing on the surgery slab in agony.

Dr. Keene came crashing through the doors with Burghs, practically tumbling headlong into a lion’s den of anarchy. The room was filled with almost thirty bodies now, many of whom were trying to restrain the flailing monstrosity of sharp edges and ruined metal on the surgical slab. One of her GM nurses was leaning on the wall with a dislocated arm and being fussed over by members of the original MEMT squadron. Another person, someone she didn’t recognize, was being dragged out with an obvious welt on their forehead. Sazabi’s exposed souldrive was flashing violently, pulsing strobes of brilliant white light that blinded Keene as soon as she was in the theater.

 _“What HAPPENED!?”_ Dr. Keene couldn’t help but raise her voice to a near scream. She was  _horrified_.

On the table, Sazabi suddenly swung his arm up and clipped a GM in the face. The mech staggered backward and plowed into a cart of loose tools. The mech and the cart went down all at once, filling the theater with additional sound. Louder and louder, louder and _louder_.

“We were cleaning up when he suddenly started moving!” Burghs voice quaked. “Then he just started gasping and...!”

Keene’s head nurse, Catherine Hodges, was bowed over the Commander’s helm with her hand on his head to try and keep it in place. Before Keene could shout at her to get away, Sazabi bucked and _slammed his entire forehead into her face._ Catherine recoiled and fell onto her back, unconscious. Another GM nearly tripped on her.

Sazabi opened his jaws, flared what was left of his shattered optic, and _wailed_.

It was one of the most haunting sounds Keene had ever heard. It was more animal than machine. As soon as the first wail tapered off, the huge Axian struggled to inhale and let out another one. This one was even louder – a full blown _scream_. This was _not_ braindeath in a mech. Functional processor or not, this mech was in absolute agony and could feel everything that happened to him. She thought about his cracked engine block, his scorched internals, the shattered battery... His pedes scraped on the table as he futilely attempted to fight the restraints being applied to him. At the knee, his right leg cocked wrong. As a GM tried to strap it down, it came loose and _ripped away from his body._ The now separate leg clanked on the surgical slab and accidently got pushed off in the mayhem. Sazabi seized and slammed the back of his own head on the surface of the table.

“ _How the fuck is that thing MOVING!?”_ Reichold was leaning against the wall, his arm wrapped in heavy towels and blood visibly seeping through. As one of the medics from the other room tried seeing to him, he jerked away in pain. Keene was afraid to ask what had happened for him. His eyes were wild with fear. “THAT MONSTER WAS  _DEAD!”_

The culprit, if there ever existed a more blatantly obvious one, was spinning and glowing like a second sun. The souldrive in the mech’s chest now had both rings spinning wildly, the flame inside the glass sphere raging like an inferno. She heard stories about the power of the souldrive but never imagined she would get to see one in action, up close in personal. Non-functional engine and processor aside...

Mechs were predictable. Mechs were safe. But not all mechs were built equally. Keene couldn’t believe she was stupid enough to overlook it before.

Sazabi’s shattered optic snapped in her direction. It sparked as it tried to flare, like brewing hellfire. Hurting. Dying. _Frightened_. His jaws flexed in a silent scream as he choked on his own intakes. He was hyper-ventilating.

Dr. Keene looked up at her room of frenzied colleagues, reaching up to whistle loudly. The sound reverberated off the walls of the amphitheater like a shot from a gun. Everyone’s attention was immediately on her, and she seized it before the moment passed – or before Sazabi could let lose another horrible scream. _“LISTEN UP!_ Operation  _Fallen Eagle_ is back on schedule! I don’t know  _what’s_ happening, but our patient has revived and desperately needs our help! I want the sedatives I originally asked for in this guy to block all this his sensor array paths, and I want gas anesthetic administered to put him under entirely—”

She couldn’t tell who spoke up. “Wouldn’t an EMP be more effective? We don’t know the proper doses—!”  
  
Now that Sazabi was fully strapped down, Keene was already getting to work reaching inside the mech’s chassis to make inventory of his internals. He shrieked again, thrashing as soon as her hand brushed over a cluster of wires. The sensor nodes sparked violently. The engine was going to have to come out immediately. Once it was out of the way, they could get to work replacing whatever was too damaged to be recycled. “ _Something_  is letting this mech stay alive. I don’t know if it’s a backup processor hidden in this mess of wires or the sheer will of the souldrive, but if we hit him with an EMP we may lose him for good this time. As soon as he’s under, we’re taking him apart and putting him on life support. The sooner we cut this engine out and hook him up to an eternal-backup, the sooner we can get to the rest of the parts that need immediate attention. Got it?”

There was a bark of “yes ma’am” from a chorus of weary voices. Quiet, but still viable. Keene could make this work. _She had to._

Burghs rushed back over with a large, industrial needle-gun suspended in both hands: built specifically for mechs with thick cabling. Using Sazabi’s restrained state to get close enough, she plunged the needle deep into a still-intact cable in his throat. Burghs pulled the trigger. Commander Sazabi’s optic flared as he snapped that horrible maw wide, but he stopped thrashing almost immediately. He went limp. His optic rolled back in his head, his labored venting stopped... another nurse wheeled over a cart with the tranquilizer gas. She held the plastic mask dome over his face so he would be forced to vent it.

Sazabi’s optic darted to Keene one last time, watching her like a wild animal even as it went dark. The sirens and bells of equipment droned on around like a symphony of disorder, drumming on well into the night.

The souldrive kept shining on too, sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell.

**v**

Dr. Keene watched from behind the one-way window, still keeping her distance. It was finally quiet. She wondered how long it would last. It this line of work, it seldom did.

“You did everything by the book, my dear,” Kao Lyn said. The usually animated man was abnormally stoic, his hands folded neatly behind his back. He stood next to her squarely. “You were _superb_.”

They finally managed to get Mrs. Ray to a private consoling room. Understandably so, they had to get someone else to go in Keene’s place. She had done enough damage. These were delicate circumstances after all: it wasn’t every day you told someone’s family that their loved one was dead, only to have them revive themselves less than a few minutes later. Marianne Burghs was seated at a small table with Mrs. Ray and her husband Markus, going over paperwork as she explained what happened. Despite the soundproofing that had been turned on, the relief that bloomed Keiko’s face echoed louder than words. With her husband next to her holding the baby, she threw herself against him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her shoulders heaved and she cried. They were tears of relief.

“I told her the Commander was dead,” she said, voice empty. Her heart knotted seeing the other woman cry so profoundly. Keene’s ears were still ringing – her heart still pounding. “She was absolutely devastated. I’ve done this so many times before, but...”

“There’s a first time for everything, Elizabeth,” Kao Lyn said. The head-engineer of the SDG turned his head to look at her. His glasses were cocked, giving her just enough leeway to spy his eyes past the opaque yin-yang lenses. “This is not the first time a mech has come back from the brink of deactivation due to the souldrive. Look at Captain Gundam. The device works wonders, and we’ve only scratched the _surface_ of understanding its true potential.”

“You really think this is the souldrive’s doing?” Keene found herself unable to shake the terrible, sinking feeling that suddenly gripped her. This mech was likely alive because of a piece of alien tech they hardly understood: not because of anything _she_ had done. And what _had_ she even done? Barked orders and given up on the mech she presumed dead because she couldn’t be a better surgeon? She walked away from a mech who still had the potential to live. She told his family – and Mrs. Ray _was_ his family – that he was gone. She may have been the best surgeon the SDG had, but this entire evening had been entirely out of her control. She was just along for the ride.

“It’s extremely likely,” Kao Lyn offered thoughtfully, unaware to Keene’s internal struggle. “When Captain Gundam was nearly destroyed during his first mission, he was offline for an extended period of time. We assumed him killed and nearly initiated a Black Directive for him as well... but as we have all been made aware, the souldrive is capable of extreme feats of survival and preservation. Captain Gundam was able to revive and jump right back into action!”

“Sazabi won’t be jumping or moving at all for a very long time.” Dr. Keene frowned. “Captain’s injuries after that blast were superficial. He was able to walk onto a gunperry and come back to Blanc Base conscious. Sazabi is...”

“Sazabi will likely expire, I know.” Kao Lyn pulled down the collar of his jacket, smiling at her kindly. “But you gave him a shot. Everyone who helped with the operation did.”

Keene chuckled weakly. “Minus Team Beta, of course.”

 _“That_ will be dealt with separately.”

There was a long period of silence between them. As Burghs continued talking with Sazabi’s family, Mrs. Ray finally seemed to collect herself. Markus was reading from one of the papers with a focused expression. The baby, Nanako, was sleeping soundly.

“I wonder what activated the souldrive,” Keene asked again, watching as Burghs finished. As they all stood up, Mrs. Ray and her husband embraced. The baby didn’t stir. “They don’t just turn on for no reason. We learned that with Captain Gundam and the boy... Keiko and Markus are Shute’s parents, aren’t they?”

Kao Lyn didn’t answer. Keene turned her head to look for him, only to realize he was already gone. If the Chinese man wasn’t making a grand entrance, he was making quiet escapes. With the Black Directive passed, he could take control overseeing the Commander’s recovery process. If the hope of recovery even existed. Then again, souldrives were apparently capable of miracles.

She was exhausted.

After a few more minutes of standing alone, Elizabeth Keene walked to the nearest phone and called the house. She left a message when no one answered, telling her children she loved them both very much. She clocked out, washed up, and got on the next gunperry to take her home. The second she was through the door, she was once again greeted with the sound of drums and bells. The nanny sheepishly explained that the children refused to go to bed without her there. Selena, holding Cameron, rushed into her arms.

She hugged her children and didn’t dare let go for a long time.  

 


	4. Keiko Ray: ACT I

**You never know what temporal days may bring.**

**Laugh, love, live free, and sing.**

**A sleepless night becomes bitter oblivion.**

**These thoughts run through my head, over and over.**

_Paperthin Hymn_  – Anberlin

**i**

She couldn’t stand the smell of smoke.

Keiko Ray, thirty-four years old and in the middle of a B+ essay about friendship, looked up from grading papers at her kitchen table. It was a Friday afternoon at the start of a long weekend, so she wouldn’t be back in the classroom until Tuesday. Better to get the papers for her fifth grade class graded  _now_ than wait: she wanted to actually spend time with her family. But her heart sank into her stomach as she watched dark smoke curl up around the corner of the house beyond the patio windows. Rising to her feet and rushing for the door, she made it outside and turned the corner.

Sazabi’s voice was mocking. “Your technique is disgraceful.”

“Listen here you grumpy dumpster,” Mark countered, jabbing his spatula in the Axian’s direction. “ _You_  try roasting a home cooked meal on this piece of crap grill.” 

“Bah! As if I would stoop so low as to willingly  _cook_ a meal for you worthless organics. Shouldn’t your species be able to ingest raw material? Or did you lose the evolutionary prowess? And aren’t you humans materialistic? Simply purchase another grill! Do not complain to me about the state of this one!”

“You didn’t burn that steak, did you?” Keiko felt relief spread across her chest. God, she was actually worried he had ruined it!

Mark gave her a thumbs up. “I saved it, honey!”

“Barely satisfactory,” Sazabi scoffed. “Fool.”

“Fool!” Nanako kicked her legs out and squealed adoringly, swatting at Sazabi’s fingers as he held her. She was comfortably seated in his hand.  _”Fool!”_

“I could have still given it to you, Sazabi. Even if I  _did_ burn it.” Mark looked back over at the massive Axian, playfully elbowing the mech in the arm. Nana laughed and reached out for him. Sazabi took a step back in, looking personally offended. “I mean. You already eat cake. We might as well add  _flesh_  to that list. Gotta keep up the killer robot persona, right?”

 _“Hypocritical.”_  Sazabi cocked his head back and turned his optic downward at an angle. He looked as though he could have been sneering. “Your colony preaches peace above all else, and yet here you are! Devouring an animal your species  _killed.”_

“But it’s  _taaasty_ ,” Mark said teasingly. He jabbed the seared sirloin with a poker, slapping it onto a sturdy plate next to the grill. He promptly handed it so Sazabi before the mech could object. “This one’s yours. I made it with extra love, you trash baby.”

Sazabi grumbled but took the plate regardless. “You are absolutely insufferable.”

“Just try not to inhale the whole thing at once.” 

“I’m just going to throw it away when you’re not looking.”

“Just like you did with that entire plate of cookies? And the two pies? And the candied ham?”

 _“I have no idea what you’re going on about, fleshling.”_ The Commander turned away from the conversation, still holding the steak. “I’m going back to pacing aimlessly and losing my mind. I’m bringing your maggot offspring with me.”

“Don’t let Nana have any of that steak, lugnut!”

“I don’t think he will,” Keiko said gently, coming up alongside her husband. She couldn’t stop smiling. The two of them watched as Sazabi neared the bend of the house, starting to round it with his hulking footsteps. Before he disappeared around the corner, Keiko could see his jaw already beginning to unhinge. So he  _would_  eat steak.

“The bacon seasoning did the trick,” Mark said, lifting up a small bottle off the top shelf of the grill and shaking it confidently. His shit-eating grin never left his face. “As soon as I put the meat on the fire, he came right over. Hook, line, and sinker.”

“I was so afraid you were going to burn it, I could see and smell the smoke from the kitchen. I’m sure he still would have eaten it, but you know...” Keiko offered her husband a quick peck on the cheek. “Nice save, honey.”

“I’ve done way more impressive things than save a steak from burning,” Mark said.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The blonde man rolled his eyes. Somewhere in the distance, Keiko could hear a gunperry’s turbines. She looked up and spotted the grey ship on horizon, flying low enough to make out the SDG crest on its flank. She felt her smile thin out. “Do you think Shute is doing okay?”

“I’m sure he’s doing fine for now,” Mark said, putting another steak on. The grill licked flames upward, but Keiko couldn’t feel heat radiating from it at all. “Poor kid might have a heart attack when he finds out you let Sazabi tote Nana like a stuffed animal.”

“That’s fine. He’ll get over it. Sazabi has been handling her with more and more confidence. He knows how to be gentler now.” Keiko sat down on one of the patio loungers. She didn’t feel like going back to grade papers. It was a beautiful day outside, too beautiful to spend indoors, but the air somehow seemed colder than before. There wasn’t even a breeze, either. Maybe autumn was going to come early this year. How disappointing! ”Just two weeks ago he had to pick her up slowly. Now he can just  _do it_. He used to go through more than seventy pencils a day just writing an essay, too.”

“I don’t think the Dark Axis built him to be gentle with writing utensils for a reason. Or gentle with  _anything_ actually,” Mark said jokingly. ”Sweetie, in case you haven’t noticed, I think that grip of his was made for snapping necks. And spines. Pick your poison.”

“At least Nana likes him.” Keiko chuckled a little at that.  _Her_ baby, warming up to the single most dangerous robot on the entire planet? And luckily enough, he seemed to like her too. ”Did you notice her new favorite word is  _fool?_ Wonder who taught her that, huh?”

Mark rolled his eyes, flipping the steak. It hissed as it was turned over, the seasoning bubbling on the surface of the upturned half. There was still no heat radiating from the stove. Weird. Was it still getting cooler? Keiko mentally debated the pros and cons of getting a sweater right about now. ”She pronounces  _Zabi_  better than  _Dada.”_

“Both your children have left you for robots, Mark. At least you still have your wife.” 

“I dunno... I still feel like I got the short end of the stick, here.” 

“Don’t be a smartass to your wife, Mark.” 

The gunperry was closer now. As much fun as the back and forth banter was, Keiko couldn’t help but feel uneasy as she watched the airship close in. Actually... was that another one tailing it? Yes it was. There were  _two_ gunperries now headed straight in their direction. They usually patrolled over the city after the Neotopia invasion, but they never got  _this_ close to the outer district. Where were they going?

“When are they reinstalling Sazabi’s flight equipment?” Keiko squinted up at the ships. “It’s not  _today_ , is it?”

“I don’t think so.” Mark shrugged. He didn’t seem too concerned as he went to put another steak on. “Medium-rare or just medium for you, honey?”

“Something’s not right.” Keiko felt dread rising up inside her again, simultaneously pushing down on her heart. Her chest felt too tight for her lungs. The air had chilled like early December. The SDG gunperries weren’t slowing down, headed straight for the house, and no one had even called ahead of time. Her skin broke into goosebumps. 

 _Something’s not right_ was rapidly evolving into  _something’s definitely wrong._

She stood up. “I think we better go inside. I’ll get Sazabi and Nana. He’s probably still lecturing to her out front.”

That was when the third gunperry she hadn’t noticed surged overhead, swinging high above the house. How had she missed hearing  _that_ one? It swung around at an angle like a circling hawk, gliding over their property with the other gunperries fanning out behind it. It was a well-practiced and intimidating maneuver.  _Predatory_. A sharp, cold downdraft blew from the screaming turbine fans as the ships finally slowed.

The third gunperry’s siding folded downward, and a human SDG officer leaned out in full black SWAT gear. She had a horrible scoped weapon braced against her shoulder: an electromagnetic rifle.  _Keiko had seen that awful gun before._ The ship was so close to the ground now that she could  _see_ her finger on the trigger. The sniper cocked the gun, took aim as the gunperry got into position...

 _“SAZABI!”_  Keiko broke into a sprint. Her heart felt like it was going to burst straight out of her chest. “SAZABI,  _GET INSIDE THE HOUSE!”_

A shot rang out. The SDG officer recoiled with the huge gun as she fired. 

Keiko rounded the corner.

Sazabi was lying face first on the ground and twitching violently. There was smoking crater in his back, exposing shredded metal and sparking wires. He had taken a direct hit. His arms were spread out ahead of him - empty - and Nanako was lying several feet away  _not moving._ The scene was something out of Keiko’s worst nightmares. She felt herself start screaming but the sensation was numb. The sound was drowned out over the sound of the gunperries continuing to circle - black vultures. 

Sazabi  _moved_. Jesus Christ, he was still alive! 

The wounded Commander lifted his huge head and reached out for Nana. The motion was slow: agonized. The latent EMP charge was continuing to devastate his body, causing his joints to spasm as the circuitry within was destroyed. The Axian’s optic was out of focus, confused... but a second blast from that horrible rifle made short work of him. The shot ricocheted off the back of his head and dealt the killing blow with a cruel  _bang_. Sazabi’s optic exploded and shattered outward from the sheer force of the blow. He collapsed again and didn’t move, murdered next to a flowerbed he helped plant not three hours earlier. Bleeding hearts and pink violas. He never stood a chance. 

Keiko ran for Nanako first. There was nothing she could do for Sazabi. His leg was still twitching post-death but there was no doubt he was gone. She fell to her knees next to her motionless baby, shaking as she pulled the infant into her arms. Nana’s eyes were glossy and far away as she turned her over: staring but not seeing. The fall had snapped her neck and killed her instantly.

When Mark didn’t immediately come up behind her, Keiko looked up. Her vision blurred with tears but she could still tell the time of day was different. The sun was setting and the cold was creeping in faster. The darkness of night encroached. The pink sky was marred with black smoke as the entire front of the house was swallowed in a dense blanket of flames. The fire radiated an icy chill instead of heat. It was like hell had frozen over, cold and still getting colder. Keiko wondered if she was going insane. 

Sazabi stared at her through his shattered optic. His body was charred and almost unrecognizable as he suddenly reached for her in death, opening his jaws in a too-wide silent scream.

**i**

Keiko snapped her eyes open as Mark shook her awake.

“Honey?” He was glancing at her with furrowed brows and a strange look on his face. They were still driving. ”Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she said, sitting up in the passenger seat of their small car. Her neck hurt from leaning against the passenger-side window. How long had she been out for? She reached for the console to turn down the air conditioning that was running on full blast. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Sorry, I wasn’t pay attention.”

“You’ll give Nana a cold.” Keiko felt her back seize saying her own child’s name. She turned in her seat, looking over her shoulder as the veil of sleep continued to lift. Every second that passed let her feel more focused and grounded in the now. 

Nanako was safely strapped into her safety harness in the back seat. She was wrapped in a plush white blanket, cuddling her favorite dinosaur stuffed animal – a bright red tyrannosaurus rex. Keiko reached out to feel the baby’s foot, almost not believing she was real for a second. As the world became sharper, she remembered where she was. Everything was fine.

As fine as it could be under the circumstances, she thought miserably.

“We’re five minutes out,” Mark announced. He switched on the directional and made to turn down another road. ”Want to give my parents a ring to let them know we’re almost there?”

“Sure.” Keiko pulled out her cellphone, sliding the touchscreen to unlock the device. Her phone background was from the small barbeque they had a week earlier, with Sazabi holding a bacon-seasoned sirloin steak in one hand and Nanako in the other.

Keiko put the phone down, buried her face in her hands, and cried for the rest of the drive.

**ii**

Emergency responders managed to put out the fire that Zako Red started before it could raze the house to the ground, but the damage was still severe. There was no electricity or running water. The only relic from the front half of the house that survived was the ornate glass window that Keiko’s grandfather made. It was a miracle they only lost the house’s curb value, and even then that was easily fixable. None of the bedrooms were hit. Nothing valuable was lost -  _almost_  nothing.

But Sazabi survived, Keiko kept reminding herself. But knowing she could get a phone call from the SDG at any second telling her he was  _gone_... she had already been told he was dead once. She didn’t think she could endure hearing it a second time.

Mark’s parents lived in the exterior district on the opposite end of the city. It was roughly an hour long ride, made into two hours due to extra traffic in the main metropolis. Cleanup crews were still cleaning up the remains of the Doga Bombers who came with Zako Red to attack Sazabi. The second the SDG closed in to apprehend them, they just... dive-bombed the city. Six civilian lives were reportedly lost with the Dogas. News outlets were suggesting it was a mass suicide. Just the  _word_  left a foul taste in Keiko’s mouth. They passed twelve charred craters before finally escaping the city limits on the highway.

George Ray was a heavier set man with a barrel chest and thinning grey hair. He was already waiting outside the house when Mark pulled their car into the driveway. Pamela Ray, his petite wife who always wore four perfumes too many, came out shortly afterwards to try and whisk Nana into her arms. Keiko wouldn’t let her - after what happened with Zako Red, she was  _not_ going to let rip Nanako from her again. George and Mark lugged the suitcases into the house. It was small and beautifully built, always immaculate whenever visitors came. The interior smelled like fresh croissants and cinnamon.

Keiko used to love it here. Now all she could think about was how Sazabi would have missed the clearance in the doorway and conked his head. 

“Thanks again for letting us crash here, pops,” Mark said as they entered. “Not every day your house almost gets burned down by an alien robot from another dimension, right? And here you and mum worried I wasn’t going to do anything interesting with my life.”

“Maybe if you didn’t have a second alien robot living in your house to start with...” George tapered off. He set Keiko’s suitcase on the bed and Mark followed sit with his own. Keiko trailed behind, still holding Nana. “Our home is your home, Mark. We’re just glad no one got hurt. Stay as long as you need to.”

“They’re already getting the pipes fixed. Shouldn’t take more than four weeks to get everything back in working order. Shute won’t even be able to tell there even  _was_  a fire when he gets back.”

The rest of the evening was mostly commanded by dinner arrangements. Pamela cooked her “world famous” meatloaf, which Nanako vehemently refused to touch. She also adamantly refused to put down her red dinosaur toy. Mark gently tried to trick her into surrendering it, something that  _Sazabi_  would usually have to do, but Mark was not Sazabi. No sir, Nanako wanted nothing to do with him unless he was red and had a searching pink optic. 

“No!” She swatted at her father, frowning and looking more and more irate. “ _Fool!_  Zabi!”

Keiko later realized that she should have taken the hint that the evening was going to fold into unpleasant territory. Pamela and George both looked at each other, then looked at Keiko. Pamela looked especially... what? Concerned?

“She knows Sazabi by name?” Pamela sat up straight in her seat, sparing her youngest grandchild another glance.

“He lived in our house,” Keiko said, frowning. “Of course she learned his name. Zabi also refers to the dinosaur. She got it for her birthday from Mark.”

“Should’ve picked something in white or blue, right honey?” Mark was smiling broadly, either oblivious to the brewing tension or choosing outright to ignore it. “Probably didn’t help that Sazabi was her favorite color.”

 _Was_. Keiko knew that Mark didn’t mean to use past-tense, but the thought was still there and instantly scratching at the back of her brain. No - she couldn’t think that way. Not when Sazabi was still alive. She glanced at her phone underneath the table, notching it just barely out of her pocket to see the screen. No missed calls. Good.

Pamela made a face, going to cut into her meatloaf. She wasn’t looking at anyone when she spoke, but Keiko knew her words were directed at her. “I still can’t believe you let that  _criminal_  into your home. With a child less than a year old. Endangering that poor girl by bringing her to the top of Neotopia Tower on live television wasn’t enough, was it?”

“Excuse me?” Keiko looked up, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She felt herself slowly filling with a tedious rush of adrenaline, a slow burn that made the base of her skull ache. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant sensation. “I was by myself. Mark wasn’t there to take the baby, and I wasn’t going to leave her alone in the middle of an alien invasion.”

“I would have done the same thing, mum,” Mark said. Leave it to him to immediately jump to her defense: they made a good team, Keiko thought. He was always good at defusing these kinds of situations. ”She needed to support Shute. Leaving Nana alone was out of the question.”

“But taking a murderer into your home  _wasn’t_  out of the question?” Pamela finally looked up, eyes narrowed threateningly. She was angry now. The meatloaf was growing cold on the table but the strain in the air was only getting warmer. Suffocating. “Not everyone  _survived_  that invasion, you know.”

That was true. Those who were petrified and had parts of their bodies damaged were ignored by the reverse-bagu bagu. The flaws didn’t even need to be severe: a chipped piece of concrete or a small crack would deter the reverse-bagu bagu entirely. Approximately one hundred people were turned to stone in Neotopia and never turned back. That was the ugliest part in the aftermath of the Dark Axis invasion: that even though their peaceful world managed to fend off its attackers, forty-three men and fifty-seven women walked out of their homes that morning and never returned. Sazabi may not have pulled the trigger himself, but he gave the order that sealed their fates. 

Pamela diverted her brewing wrath to her son, albeit with secondary concerns. The heat was still on Keiko. The slow burn of adrenaline only worsened. “Did she even  _consult_  you before agreeing to host that horrible robot? Why didn’t you  _stop her?_  I raised you to have better judgment, Markus.”

“Keiko and I  _both_ talked about hosting Sazabi.” Mark was glaring at his mother now, looking more and more dismayed as the conversation dragged. “Look, I just want to have a nice dinner, mum. Can we talk about this later?”

The older woman had already worked herself into a disillusioned frenzy: turning back was too late. She shook her head and slapped her utensils on the counter, turning her attention back to Keiko. Her shouldering grey eyes burned, judgmental. “Women like you are all the same. You try to help  _everyone_  around you just so you can feel better about your own shortcomings. Except this time, you stretched too far – you let a  _psychopathic killing machine_ into your home _._ Did you ever stop to think what would have happened if he  _won?_  He would have killedall of us! He was never some troubled grade-schooler in your class that you could just hope to fix. He was a genocidal  _animal_.”

Keiko  _snapped_.

“Sazabi wasn’t the one who burned the  _fucking_  house down, Pam.” She shouted, standing up. As she did, her knees bumped the table hard and sent Mark’s glass of water tumbling. Nanako made a face, clutching her toy and going quiet. Her large eyes stared at her mother unwaveringly, mouth trembling. She was going to cry, but Keiko couldn’t stop herself. She couldn’t remember the last time she lost her temper like this, but the floodgates were open and there was no stopping it. “I sent Sazabi to get  _groceries_  when that other robot came and set the house on fire. Peas, eggs, and  _flour –_ and he  _got_  them! He got back to the house and smashed through the goddamn wall to get me out.  _He saved Nanako when the other robot tried to take her!”_

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me in my house!” Pamela stood up with her. More silverware fell to the floor. Nanako started to cry.

“Zaaaabi!” She clutched the stuffed toy harder, blood rushing to her face. It was obvious she wasn’t referring to the stuffed animal now. Unfortunately, no matter how hard she cried, the person she wanted wasn’t going to come. ” _Zaaaabi!_  Nooo!”

Pamela cackled almost hysterically. She pointed accusingly at Nanako. Her arm shook with effort. “Does she say  _anything_  other than that monster’s name, now? When was the last time she tried  _mama_  or  _dada?”_

“Sazabi isn’t a monster!” Keiko could feel blood rushing to her face. Adrenaline was pumping. She was in fight-or-flight mode leaning towards Fight with extreme prejudice. “Maybe he was once, but you know what? People  _change_ , Pam. People who were terrible aren’t terrible forever if they just try.”

“ _Did_  Sazabi try?” The older woman suddenly looked  _very_ confident in herself, as if this were the win-all to their argument. She puffed her chest out and held her head high. What an atrociously pompous woman! 

“As a matter of fact,  _he did.”_  Keiko gestured to Nana. Mark had already plucked her up out of her height-chair, bouncing her up and down to try and calm her. He looked at her with a torn expression – almost begging her not to add fuel to the fire. Ooh, but Keiko was on a roll.

Right now, she just wanted to see the world  _burn_. 

“Nana  _loves_  him. Before he used to just sit around in the spare bedroom and throw fits when I tried to make him do chores or write an essay. But just in the past month? He came out of hiding for her birthday party – you didn’t even bother  _coming_  if I remember correctly.” She narrowed her eyes at the other woman, bristling with the urge to just reach across the table and  _hit_ her. “He  _talks_  to her for hours on end. I’ve noticed him finishing his chores early so he can hold and pace around with her outside—”

 _“You let him hold my granddaughter!?”_ Pamela was already a pale woman, but now she looked like a ghost. The anger was still present in her posture, but her tone was drowned out with the distinct sound of horror.  _”You let him touch her!?”_

Nanako  _screamed,_ smashing her fists on Mark’s chest. She was inconsolable over all the shouting – scared. If she tried calling out for Sazabi again, it was choked between indistinguishable shrieks.

“Pamela, please calm down!” George looked at Keiko accusingly. “Keiko, maybe you should apologize—”

“Oh no,” Mark said, wincing and already starting to recoil backwards. He knew what was coming.

 _“I should apologize!?”_ Keiko  _slammed_  her hands on the table. Another glass fell. “Pam was the one who started this! I am not apologizing for my decisions. Bringing Sazabi into our home was the right decision—”

“YOUR  _HOUSE_  ALMOST BURNED TO THE GODDAMN  _GROUND!”_

_“SAZABI SAVED NANAKO AND ALMOST DIED DOING IT!”_

Keiko’s cellphone started to ring.

The violent air that had seized the room by its jugular disappeared in a matter of seconds. Pamela stood there, her hair tussled and face red from her last scream. Mark was frozen on the spot, still holding his still shrieking daughter. George was holding his hands on his wife’s shoulders and looking at Keiko strangely. Keiko, meanwhile, felt like she was going to vomit. The room was too small and closing in fast. She wondered if she was dissociating: she watched herself from outside her own body as she reached down and pulled the phone out of her pocket. She checked it in slow-motion: the call was from Blanc Base’s robot-hospital.

“Excuse me,” Keiko said quietly. She pushed away from the table, unwittingly knocking the chair over as she did so. It fell to the ground with a clatter. She didn’t stop to pick it back up. She had to get out. She needed air, and the phone – that damn horrible phone – was still ringing in her hand. The background image of Sazabi glaring at her with the bacon seasoned steak in one hand and Nanako in the other taunted her.

She stepped outside into the cold evening air and kept walking. She didn’t stop.

**iii**

The last “incident” Sazabi ever had was also the last time Keiko ever needed to get him out of his own security-lockdown.

Keiko remembered it vividly for three reasons. For one, it was a  _doozy_  of a temper tantrum. She was usually able to curb them one way or another, but that particular day was different somehow. He was moodier than usual – did he not recharge well the night before? She  _did_  hear him pacing several times throughout the night in his room upstairs. Maybe he was still mad because she wouldn’t tell him where the power-grid for the house was. She  _offered_  to give him his proper energy-rations, but he always refused (and followed up with his trademark snarky commentary). Well, he was just going to have to learn to be humble and ask for help just like everyone else! He would cave in sooner or later. 

The other reason she remembered that day so well was because he broke the kitchen window.

“This is ridiculous!” He flared his optic accusingly, hissing air through his vents. As non-expressive as his face was, Keiko had learned to pick-up on the Axian’s physical cues to gauge his emotions. He was currently puffing himself out like a furious bird, rushing air past his vents in a low  _hiss_  that made the air around him slightly warmer. He was cocking his head higher but keeping his optic fixated downward, glaring.  _Sneering_. He was starting to shake as his engine’s RPM climbed without changing gears, and it was causing a steady growl to rise up inside him. A perfect storm brewed under his hood in the incarnation of seven hundred horses. “I just  _did_  that!” 

“And you can do it again,” Keiko said, holding her ground. She was in the middle of prepping dinner – oven cooked salmon with lemon juice and dill paste. “It rained the other day, Sazabi. You know the windows have to get washed after every storm.”

“Yes, and you are not understanding that I just did this chore  _yesterday_.” Sazabi revved his engine threateningly. Or maybe not  _really_  threateningly. Genuine threats resulted in lockdowns, and the Axian was still mobile. But Keiko knew it was coming.

“And then it rained again,” Keiko attempted to reason. She put the salmon in the oven, then turned her attention back to the steaming mass of Commander in her kitchen. “You get your butt outside, mister. You could have been finished by now if you weren’t standing here arguing. It won’t long.”

In the next room, Keiko remembered hearing Nanako watching a cartoon. She was giggling happily, probably bouncing in her baby jumper and oblivious to the power-struggle in the next room.

“But I already  _did this! In less than twenty-four hours!_ This  _is_ an unreasonable request and a complete waste of my time!” Oh yes, the lockdown was  _definitely_  coming now. Keiko could see the way his joints were starting to shake: he didn’t seem to notice it whenever it happened, but the process had already begun. She wondered what he was thinking about: hitting her? Strangling her? Snapping her neck?It bothered her to think about it, but then again? These fits were becoming less and less frequent. When  _had_ his last episode even been, anyways? “I refuse!”

“Then you’re just going to have to deal with the consequences,” Keiko said. “I’ll have to push back giving you your console privileges.”

“As if I  _care_ , you repulsive mound of organic  _filth!”_ Sazabi turned his head, his red optic searching – and then it lit up. He raised his hand, pulling it back before  _slamming_ it into the window opposite of him.

Keiko froze. So did Sazabi.

It was the first time he had actually ever broken something. At least before the security bolt kicked in. The window was  _decimated_ from the blow, both the glass and the frame shattered beyond repair at the force of his fist traveling through it. Great – now Keiko was going to have to get someone to fix it. Most vendors would sooner run in the opposite direction than go to the house where  _Commander Sazabi of the Dark Axis invasion fleet_ lived. In the next room, Keiko heard Nana start to cry. She likely heard the crash and got scared. Without a word Keiko left to tend to her, leaving the still Commander to stand there looking stupidly at his own handiwork.

When Keiko came back, Sazabi’s optic was looking down. His body was rigid: the security bolt had finally kicked in, but  _after_  the initial conflict was over? Keiko wondered if it was a glitch... and wondered why she didn’t feel more alarmed at the prospect that the bolt may have malfunctioned.

Keiko moved behind him, feeling for the button just under the back of his sweeping helmet. It was too far back for him to reach, which was why it was installed there: not like he could hope to hit it when he  _was_  locked down, though. When she pressed it, there was an electric  _buzz_ followed by the locks disengaging themselves. It was the quietest lockdown he had ever been in. Sazabi usually whined and snapped at her to hurry up and get him out of trouble, but now? He tested the functionality of his limbs like he always did following the lockdowns, but he was silent. Docile.

“All the windows?” he asked.

“Just the ones around the front of the house for now,” Keiko said. “You can do the rest tomorrow. How’s that sound?”

“And your offspring?” Still with his back to her, he turned his head slightly towards the direction of the living room – where Nana had been crying. The baby was giggling again. She probably didn’t remember hearing the crash at all.

“She’s fine.” Keiko felt something inside her knot. Sazabi was acting strangely. His tantrums never  _just_ fizzled out like this. They brewed, peaked, then tapered off over the course of several hours.  _Now_ the unrestrained fury had just disappeared without a trace. “The glass breaking just startled her is all.”

The Commander didn’t answer. He turned briskly and left, not making eye contact with her. He thundered through the back sliding doors, probably to get his cleaning supplies out of the shed. Nana continued giggling and squealing in the background. Keiko tried to remember what she was doing... then swore, diving for the stove and setting the timer before she forgot again. Her frayed brain tried to make sense of what just happened. Sazabi bypassing his security bolt. The bolt activating only after the main argument had ended. His sudden passive behavior in the aftermath. There was only one thing she knew for certain from all of this...

The third reason why she remembered that day so vividly was because it was the first time Sazabi had ever shown remorse for something he did. Not for breaking the window, but for making Nanako cry.

**iv**

“...Mrs. Ray? Hello?”

Keiko shook herself back to the present. She readjusted the phone’s position against her ear, feeling dread grip her as she kept walking. ”Sorry – yes this is Keiko Ray. May I ask who’s speaking?”

“This is Kelly Donahue. I’m one of the on-staff nurses assigned to monitor Mr. Sazabi.” The girl paused on the other end of the line. “I’m calling because you wanted us to inform you about any changes in his condition.”

“Is he still in a coma?” After originally being told that Sazabi was  _dead_ , they moved Keiko and Mark to a private interview room to speak to a counselor and Dr. Keene again. Except the surgeon and the counselor never showed up. One of the surgeon’s nurses came to explain, as delicately as she could, that Sazabi decided that being dead was a novelty that wore out ten minutes. They put him through another round of emergency surgery, stripping his internals and hooking his vital functions up to external devices. Life support. But Keiko was warned that he probably wouldn’t live through the night. When he survived the first twelve hours, she was warned again that he probably wouldn’t make it to the next day. Now here she was, getting a phone call at almost nine o’ clock at night. Of course he died, she thought. She shouldn’t have expected anything less.  

“Yes he is,” Kelly said, surprising her. “He still won’t ventilate on his own, but his condition is stable.”

He was... okay?

“Why did you call me?” She was suspicious now. She kept walking, turning down the road and headed further and further away from her in-laws’ house. She needed this walk more than anything right now... although she wished she brought a jacket. The first stars were appearing in the sky, the remnants of the sunset bleeding into the horizon. ”What changed?”

“Well...” Kelly paused. “We’re not sure what it means, but I thought you would like to know his souldrive activated just now. Only for a few seconds, but Chief Kao Lyn is coming to take a look at it.”

This was the third activation she knew of. The first had been when he was falling through the sky, before slamming into the hillside. The second had been after they originally pronounced him dead. Now...

“Do you think it means something?” Keiko couldn’t help but to sound hopeful. “Do you think he’s bouncing back?”

“His processor is still non-functional aside from the two intact motherboards we found further back, but they only control the most basic motor-control.” Kelly’s voice grounded Keiko back into the now. That was right: Sazabi was technically braindead. He was a  _vegetable_. “It may mean something, but... I wouldn’t count on anything, ma’am. I’m sorry. I wish I had better news. Would you like me to not call if the souldrive activates again?”

“No, please still call. It’s good news. It’s  _something_.”

“I thought the same thing, ma’am.” Kelly paused. “Is there anything I can help you with otherwise, Mrs. Ray?”

“No, but thank you for calling.”

“You’re welcome. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Keiko stayed on the line until it quit on Kelly’s end, and a few seconds afterward.

**v**

Sazabi changed every single day.

It reminded Keiko of the long weekend afternoons she spent watching Shute learn how to walk. He would stumble, fall flat on his behind, have fits... but in the end? Shute persevered and was up and running in no time. Hell, those roller blades might as well have just  _grown_  onto his feet at four and a half. He was a quick learner with swift determination.

Eight feet tall and constantly grumpy, her Other Son showed a similar learning curve.

It wasn’t just learning how to  _do_  things, either. Not necessarily: Sazabi just learned how to do things  _better_. She could still hear him thundering up and down her abused stairs, but he learned how to walk lighter and not so forcefully. He moved with more fluidity around the house as he adapted to ducking his huge head through doorframes. He started going through only half a box of pencils a day rather than the full 100 box-set (“pencils to last you a full year!” the box art said, what a  _joke)_ as he learned to regulate the power in his grip. He started learning how to hold Nanako with more confidence.

There were other elements too. The first day he woke up in her home and she insisted he do weeding, he nearly had a fit at the idea of touching plants. Two months later, when Keiko called him over to ask how he liked the new red hydrendas she picked up from the nursery, he verbally berated her about how they “wouldn’t look pleasing in the main plot out front.” Unless she relocated the bleeding heart bush and pink violas to the side yard, of course. She asked him if he wanted to help her moving things around. He insisted he do it himself, as she would only get in his way. He spoke softer and less frantically (indoor voices were still hard for him). He started slipping up and using “please” without drenched sarcasm when he wanted something. He could navigate most conversations without resorting to threats of bodily harm...

Keiko remembered what Dr. Perez said to her. The cyberneurologist visited her in her home one sunny afternoon, warning her that the Axian’s “brain map” she was remotely monitoring was changing drastically. He was apparently adapting parts of his battle-computer and “jailbreaking” himself. Sensors once used for tracking multiple enemy targets were now being used to read human facial expressions. A complex mathematical cortex once used for scanning weapons systems were reassigned to analyzing speech patterns. Those original functions weren’t being overwritten, either: he was just layering newly learned abilities on top of each other. Keiko was reminded of that old dinosaur movie: where the raptors used their hunting skills to learn how to open doors. 

“How long until he backdoors a way around his security bolt?” Perez asked while she helped her make cookies in her kitchen. They were for her students – Sazabi included. “Can you trust that he won’t have another ‘incident’  _forever?”_

The notion should have frightened her. Any other mother would have called the SDG, demanding that the monstrosity of an evolution-nightmare be removed from her home. Then again, any other mother would have never allowed him through the front door in the first place. But Keiko wasn’t like most other mothers. Did that make her a bad mother? Shute turned out okay, didn’t he? Nanako was doing fine, too. She was just a  _different_  kind of mother. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that she was making a difference. Sazabi showed  _remorse_ during his last ‘incident.’ If something else cropped up, she was sure he would show remorse for that too. He may have been adapting his weapons systems in a way that would make him a better killer, but he was using it for  _good_.

Mark was warming up to him. Nanako  _adored_  him. Keiko viewed him less like a foster-child needing guidance and more like one of her own family members.

When Dr. Perez showed her the electromagnetic rifle in the boot of her car, Keiko wanted to cry. She wanted to reach up, slam the trunk shut, and command that Viola leave her property and not look back. She had half a mind to call Chief Haro personally and mandate that this woman be removed from Sazabi’s “case” immediately. But she kept her cool.

“Sazabi is a gun, just like this one,” Keiko said as calmly as she could. “He can kill. He  _absolutely_  has the potential to kill, but so do humans. Look at what we did to Earth. We don’t even  _teach_ children about Earth until they’re in college, and even then? No one is alive who remembers why we  _really_ left. The terrorist bombings, religious genocides,  _nuclear weapons_... and something else. Something else so  _horrible_ that Neotopia’s founders drugged themselves on amnesiacs to forget. We can talk about the Dark Axis. We can’t talk about the things we did to ourselves.”

Keiko reached up, closing the trunk gently. She wanted to slam it. She resisted.

“Sazabi is a gun, and so is everyone else on this planet.” She looked Viola Perez in the face. “We all choose not to be. So can  _he_.”

She viewed Sazabi less and less like a weapon every day. He really  _was_  a gun, too: built by the Dark Axis to be the dual conqueror and executioner of entire worlds. But he was changing. Adapting. The learning curve was as deep as it was long, like one of the line graphs she would teach her fifth grade classroom with. Swooping downward and accelerating faster the longer you rode that line into infinity across a bright axis (haha). 

The pinnacle of Keiko’s realization of what Sazabi was changing into came when she putting away the laundry. He had already folded everything as one of his evening chores. The Axian hinted to a complaint of chest pains earlier in the day, so she let him have the rest of the evening off if he just folded the blankets out of the dryer. Now she was putting them away... but one of the comforters was missing? Odd. She searched in the master bedroom for it, but it wasn’t even shoved into the back of the closet. It was a silly search too: why would he put one blanket away and not the others? Had she forgotten to put it in the wash herself? If so, where was it? Keiko went up to Sazabi’s room and knocked on the door to ask. When no one answered, she assumed him asleep.

She cracked the door open and peered inside.

It was her idea to put the bed in there. Mark insisted he wouldn’t need it. Sazabi himself even admitted was a wasted resource. He would break it even if he  _wanted_ to use it, and he “never would, you insolent waste of carbon and plasma.” The frame was currently leaning up against the far wall, but the mattress proper was on the floor. Sazabi barely fit on it (his limbs were hanging off the sides pretty hilariously actually), but he made do as best he could. His head was propped up with pillows. The comforter, still radiating heat from the dryer, was tossed over his legs and midsection.

Keiko slowly closed the door and walked downstairs, smiling. It faded by the time she got to the bottom step.

Sazabi was changing every single day. For a whole ten seconds, she also forgot the kind of person he was changing  _from_.

Those thoughts ran through her head, over and over.

**vi**

Mark called her on her cellphone. She declined. Another call came through again, this time as an “unlisted” number. No Mark, she thought, she wasn’t dumb enough to answer an unlisted call after he  _just_ tried her: of course she was going to know it was him. To distract herself, she called the SDG back.

“Can someone please give me the extension for Kao Lyn?”

She didn’t even need the extension – they said they could just patch her right through. Ever since the invasion, they had to open up an entirely new department for taking public calls. She was disappointed when an unfamiliar voice answered in Kao Lyn’s place. “Hello?”

“Hello? Who is this?” Keiko wrapped her free arm around herself. It was getting  _very_  cold. So much for dragging summer out for just a few more months. “I’m sorry, I was trying to reach Kao Lyn.”

“Sorry, this is Omar Bellwood. Kao Lyn had to step out for a few minutes. If you want me to I can have him call you back in a few—”

“No, that’s fine. I’m sure you two are both extremely busy. This is Keiko Ray - I was calling to ask about Sazabi.” 

“Oh yeah, you’re Shute’s mom! I didn’t recognize your voice. Sorry, I’m running on fumes here.” Bellwood’s voice took a lighter tone. He sounded relieved. “We’ve been cataloguing Sazabi’s insides for two days straight. Kao Lyn and I have blisters  _on_  our blisters... but if there’s anything you need help with, I’d be glad to do something for you in the meantime. I could  _really_ use a break.”

Keiko’s skin crawled at ‘insides.’ Obviously mechs weren’t the same as humans, but the fact they basically hollowed out Sazabi and had him in  _pieces_  around Blanc Base was horrifying. It made her want to puke up what little of Pam’s meatloaf she had at dinner. “Thank you, Bellwood. I actually just thought of a few things. I wanted to run them by Kao Lyn, but you may be able to answer my question too.”

“I’m all ears, Mrs. Ray.”

“How exactly does Sazabi’s security bolt work?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” There was the sound of shifting equipment in the background and the creak of a chair. “I actually designed that bad boy myself. It was a wired brace that we installed running the length of Sazabi’s backstrut.  One end connected to the motor-function center of Sazabi’s processor. The other end ‘fanned out’ and connected to different sensor nodes controlling his limbs. Another plug wired into part of his processor to remotely detect violent signals. You know – the thing that makes him all stab-happy and wanting to blow up most of humanity. Whenever he had negative feelings that could result in someone being hurt or destroyed, it fired off synapses that locked him down.”

He was using past-tense. “The security bolt was destroyed?”

“It was sturdy but  _definitely_ not sturdy enough to survive breaking the sound barrier and smashing into the ground. Come to think of it, I bet the filaments in the wires burnt in the atmosphere before he even  _hit_  the hill. But it still doesn’t explain...”

Bellwood trailed off. Keiko felt her skin crawl again. ”It doesn’t explain what?”

“If you don’t know, maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Sazabi is my responsibility. If you know something, I would  _like_  to know.”

“If I tell you, you didn’t hear it from me.” Bellwood paused. He was probably just double-checking that no one was listening in. “We  _think_ Sazabi found a way to cheat around the security bolt. We don’t know if he learned how to do it before all those Dogas showed up, or if he just winged it on the spot during that dogfight he was in, but he definitely did  _something_  to temporarily override his lock.”

 _“How long until he backdoors a way around his security bolt?”_  Perez had asked her.

“He did?” Keiko felt dread pooling in her midsection. “How do you know?”

“I’m sure you already guessed that we installed monitoring software on Sazabi before we even sent him to you. There were three programs on that spyware. One was for the cyberneurologist, Viola Perez, to map his A.I. so we could get a better understanding of how his processor worked. The second program was a GPS tracker hooked up to the Captain System satellites. Without Captain here to even  _work_ the proper Captain System, we had to repurpose them in the meantime. That stuff ain’t cheap to run.”

“And the third program?”

“That one monitored all his security lockdowns. When they happened, how long he was in them for, and when that little button got pushed. When he was up in the air chasing Zako Red and the Dogas around, we were watching him pretty closely... except for Perez. She wouldn’t answer any of her phone calls. That’s a different story. Look, the point is that we were all watching him and saw the safety bolt like...  _waver_. It tried to activate, but he found some kind of workaround and fought it off. The bolt lifted before it fully locked him in.”

“Maybe because he was flying?” Keiko couldn’t help but to offer her own insight. “Maybe he started to fall, realized he was falling, and managed to lift the lock himself to preserve himself?”

Her blood ran  _cold_.

“Bellwood,” she started quietly. Her hands felt numb, and not just from the cold. ”Why did Sazabi’s security bolt  _not_ lift when he was falling the second time? When he had Zako Red with him. If he found a workaround, why wouldn’t he take advantage of that and use it a second time?”

“We can’t say for sure. Dr. Perez’s computer has all that monitoring data with his A.I. mapping, but she’s... I can’t lie to you Mrs. Ray, Viola’s been in the hospital for a few days now. She was actually admitted Blanc Base’s human-wing where  _you_ were. She was in a car accident. She’s been unconscious.”

Keiko thought about the horrible, all too familiar EMP rifle that Zako Red had her at gunpoint with: the same one he shot Sazabi with. The shot had only glanced his armor, but now she  _knew_  she had seen that same awful gun before. Zako Red must have been listening when Dr. Perez showed her the weapon in the back of her trunk, then taken it for himself. “Is she alright?”

“We’ll find out when she wakes up.” Bellwood said. “Anyways, maybe you have a point. Sazabi’s security bolt  _did_  try to lock him once and only failed when he started to fall. Self-preservation kept him in the air... but it didn’t lift when he started flying at the ground.” 

Flying.

“I thought he was falling.” Keiko’s voice was hoarse. Her throat hurt for some reason. That churning, horrible feeling in the pit of her body didn’t go away. “Kao Lyn and I were talking at the time when we saw him  _falling_.”

“Oh. I thought they told you.” Bellwood sounded surprised now, growing quiet. He knew he had said too much. But there was no stopping now. “We thought he was falling too. But the rate of descent was too fast. Sazabi’s a big guy and he fell from pretty high, but not even  _comets_ break the sound barrier. His thrusters were working full throttle when he crashed.”

Eerie silence passed between the two of them. Keiko realized she had come to a standstill on the side of the road. She had her phone to her ear in a death grip, white-knuckled and shaking. It wasn’t just the cold making her tremble.

“Mrs. Ray, I answered all your questions, right?” Bellwood almost sounded pleading: he wanted out of this phone conversation. Either he spooked himself or he knew what he had just implied to Keiko wasn’t particularly nice. “Do you want me to tell Kao Lyn to call you back?”

“No. I’ll try again in a few days. Thank you, Omar.” With that she hung up – or at least she tried to. She lowered the phone and went to hit the ‘end call’ button, only to let it slip through her fingers. It tumbled to the ground and landed face first in the grass next to the asphalt. She tried to pick it up and dropped it a second time. The screen was fine, but the upturned feeling in her stomach was not. Her throat ached. Her eyes burned. She tried to keep walking but found her feet glued to the spot – as if she were in her own security lock. She felt like a prisoner in her own body. She couldn’t even scream.

Headlights illuminated the road behind her. The car pulled over rather than pass. Mark peered through the passenger window from the driver’s seat furthest from her, angling his head to try and meet her eyes. His face was pale. “Honey, I’ve been looking everywhere for—Keiko? Are you okay, sweetheart—?”

Keiko’s voice warbled as she started talking. The pieces of the puzzle she never wanted to solve fell together in a cruel pile in her lap. She wanted to hurl it at a wall and smash it into a million pieces again, but she knew what the puzzle  _made_  now. There was no unseeing the image it put together. It was ugly – just like her inability to help the one person who had needed her most. What kind of mother was she if she couldn’t see it until  _now?_

_A horrible one._

“He didn’t  _fall_ , Mark,” she said as she turned to her husband. The tears were finally falling like angry rockets. “If he was falling, he wouldn’t have fallen so  _fast_. He broke the sound barrier because he was  _flying_. The security bolt only activates when he wants to hurt someone, and it turned out while he was flying downward because he wanted to hurt _himself. He tried to kill himself,_ Mark. He thought about killing himself after he broke the window in the kitchen, too. He didn’t mean to break it and only locked up after the fact because he was angry at  _himself_. He tried to commit  _suicide_  and had been thinking about it weeks earlier,  _and I didn’t HELP him!”_

She didn’t remember when Mark got out of the car. Her vision blurred with tears again as he jerked the car into park. He stepped out of the driver’s seat and vaulted  _over_ the hood of the car to take her into his arms. He smoothed one hand over her hair as his other arm hooked around her waist. She gripped him around his torso and cried long and hard.

“You  _did_  help him,” Mark said. “I know that he knows that, too.”

They didn’t move for a long time. When they got home, they made love in the guest room of his parents house for the first time since the fire. But once Mark fell asleep with his arm across her chest, it was just another sleepless night that turned into a bitter oblivion.

**vii**

She woke up to the sounds of someone rummaging in her kitchen. It was one week before the fire.

Keiko was a light sleeper – Mark was not, which explained why he was still passed out like a log next to her. She stared up at the ceiling and waited for more noise to confirm her suspicions. She flinched when she heard something break: probably one of the mugs she had left to air dry on the counter. She and Mark had lava-cake-in-a-cup for dessert earlier that evening. She offered some to Sazabi but he declined. She made him one anyways and left it outside his room.

Except now Sazabi was definitely in the kitchen. As much as she appreciated his less-than-secret-affinity for organic-cuisine, she was going to have to have a talk with him about sneaking snacks this late at night.

She got up, went into the kitchen, and froze at what she saw.

Four empty cereal boxes, a decimated box of jaffa cakes (Mark was  _not_ going to be happy about those going missing), a now-empty bag that once contained twelve plus apples, and a shredded bag of pre-packaged ribs sat on the counter. Sazabi was in the process of tearing open a box of uncooked angel hair pasta, unhinging his jaw and seconds away from just inhaling the entire box. He was shaking as he finally got it open and downed the package’s entire contents: enough pasta that would have lasted the Ray family a  _month_. Sazabi closed his jaws as his engine sputtered, frame shaking as he looked up, probably to search for more food—

He froze like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming semi, staring at her.

It took Keiko a moment to realize what exactly she was looking at. Sazabi was shaking, but it wasn’t out of fear – Sazabi wasn’t afraid of her. He was shaking before he even  _realized_ she was there, and how had he not heard her coming? His sensors were always trained on high around her and other humans. Sneaking up on him was impossible – something was  _wrong_.

Keiko remembered Nanako’s birthday party. She remembered the strange, faraway looking trances Sazabi would fall into: how he would slump over and stare into space for extended periods. Having her hand in front of his face didn’t always snap him out of it. She also remembered constantly asking him if he needed fuel, hoping he would just  _relent_  and admit that he needed to ask properly himself. She wanted him to least  _admit_ he needed help before she gave him anything.

Except Sazabi’s pride would never let him do that. In the process, she had unwittingly allowed him to  _starve himself._

He said something. It was so quiet, Keiko almost missed it. “What?”

 _“I’m sorry.”_  The Axian’s voice was shallow –  _weak_. He had no fight left in him.

Keiko walked out of the kitchen and headed outside, still in her night gown and with no slippers. It was warm enough that they weren’t necessary. She waited a little way beyond the sliding glass doors, counting down the seconds before that searching red optic peered around the corner. Sazabi followed her outside, visibly slower than usual and still trembling. She hoped he would make it down the stairs – or that the steps would at least hold him. She headed for Shute’s workshop with the Commander following her the whole way, unlocking the shed door with the spare that Shute hid under the welcome mat.

Sazabi made a noise as he entered the workshop behind her. Lined along the back wall were dozens of stacked “cubes” with a bright pink fluid inside. Before Sazabi was officially transferred to her home, GM workers with the SDG moved the fuel-cells the Commander could run on into Shute’s workshop. They had to keep them away from the Commander, they said. The “energon” cubes were highly combustible. With enough cells to last up to a year in such a condensed space, any explosions would potentially wipe the Ray household off the map. That was why they had to keep the energy’s location secret...

But at this point? She  _trusted_ Sazabi. He wasn’t going to blow up the house when Nana was living in it, and she owed him. He was hurting and it was her  _fault_.

Sazabi said nothing. He stumbled forward, grabbed the nearest cube, and bit into the silicone lining desperately. He didn’t even have the patience to intake fuel like he normally would: he was just going to scarf them down his jagged “emergency hatch.” Sazabi drained the first packet, the second, the third... he went through ten total, almost seven months’ worth of energy, before staggering and collapsing on the nearest blanket just left out on the floor. Keiko rushed over to see if he was alright. His jaws were still open, letting a snore escape from that awful maw. She didn’t think he  _could_  snore!

She didn’t remember falling asleep in Shute’s lab. When she woke up the next morning, she was sleeping on the floor too. When she got back inside, Sazabi had already made Nanako breakfast and was loudly complaining when she flicked mirai-o’s at him: the one cereal box in the house he hadn’t touched. The kitchen was clean and the trash was taken out. His optic was the brightest she had ever seen it. He was alert.  _Healthy_.

She kept Shute’s workshop unlocked from then on.

**viii**

A male nurse peered around the corner of the door, making eye contact with her and waving her over. “Keiko Ray?”

Keiko sprang up and immediately made her way over. “That’s me.”

“I’m sorry. I know you wanted to visit for longer, but the Commander isn’t doing particularly well today. One of the remaining undamaged motherboards in his head fried and actually caught fire. We had to remove it entirely.”

She was still on administrative leave from the school. Even though it was a late Friday afternoon, there were no essays to grade. The weather outside was beautiful, but she didn’t want to stick around her in-laws for the cookout they were having. George and Mark were going to make steaks. She wanted nothing to do with it. She left Nanako in Pamela’s care as much as it pained her to do so, but this was important: it was the first time she was allowed to see Sazabi after the accident.  Keiko felt her heart twist in her chest as the male nurse spoke. ”But he’s not in pain, right?”

“His pain-pleasure center was partially destroyed in the crash, so we’re not sure. There’s still no processor EKG to speak of. They still have him on tranquilizers and joint-relaxants to keep him from unintentionally moving wrong, though. They had to weld his limbs in place to see if his armor’s integrity could be saved. It’s not looking great, but nothing else has fallen off.”

“How much time can I have with him?”

“Twenty minutes is what my supervisor says, but I think I can push it to thirty if I stall for time.” The nurse smiled at her. “Would you like me to walk you to him? Or do you have the room number yourself?”

“Kao Lyn gave it to me over the phone, thank you.”

“Alright. It’s right down that way. I just... please don’t be alarmed when you see him. It looks bad. It looks  _really_ bad. But just remember that he can’t feel anything.” 

The room number was #26 on the righthand side, with two GM security guards posted by the door. They almost turned her back entirely before she showed them the clearance pass she was given. The room was huge with white walls and buzzing fluorescent lights, probably made to house two robots but currently dominated by just one. There were no windows to let in natural light, which made Sazabi look even worse under the artificial glare. His red armor was ruined, now a muddy brown and marred with streaks of black. The paint curled and flaked, and some patches were completely rubbed off to show the naked grey metal underneath. A thin piece of metal was hastily bolted across the gaping hole in his chassis with rivets to give him some dignity. Cables flooded from underneath the makeshift hood to an external engine, which was running with  _far_ too little horsepower worthy of the Commander. Plastic tubes were shoved down his open maw as he hissed air pathetically. An external pump was feeding nauseous smelling fossil fuels into his body. A computer was droning metrically to some kind of reading on a console screen that Keiko couldn’t understand...

His souldrive was exposed. The rings spun slowly, the sphere crystal clear with a barely visible flame burning at its center. 

She was glad the overhead ventilation fan was working as hard as it was, because she stood there with her hands over her mouth crying for a solid five minutes. Then she sat down in the nearest chair and cried some more. When she finally got control of herself, it had been almost a full fifteen minutes. Unless her friend was going to pull through for her, she only had a few moments left time. She pulled her chair closer and sat next to him, wondering how he – anyone – could recover from this. How  _she_  could.

“Hey Sazabi,” she said, trying to keep her voice in check.

The mech didn’t move. His dull, unmoving optic was rolled down by gravity in his head.

“I got you a present,” she said. “I couldn’t bring it with me, but it’s at home. Well, it’s at my inlaws’ home. You never met them. They’re Mark’s parents. Our house is being rebuilt so we have to stay with them for a little while. Anyways... it’s a comforter for your room. That way you can have a blanket in there with you. And it’s for a king size bed, too. You don’t have a king sized bed, but we can get you one if you want.”

Sazabi still didn’t move. It was unnerving talking to such a motionless body. At least humans breathed. Sazabi breathed in his own way too, but the engine that once allowed him to rev and shudder his chassis when he was upset was completely destroyed. That, and the backup they had him on wasn’t even  _inside_ his body. The empty shell on the berth was little more than a statue.

Keiko reached out and touched him.

Touching Sazabi wasn’t necessarily taboo: he just rarely  _let_ people touch him. Unless it was because Keiko was turning off his security bolt, she generally wasn’t allowed to put her “meaty oily appendages” on him. Actually, the only person who got away with touching Sazabi regularly was Nanako. Keiko knew she had the option to bring her didn’t want to. She didn’t want her to remember Sazabi like this.

 _She_  didn’t want to remember Sazabi like this.

His hand was huge next to hers. If he wanted to, he could have squeezed down on Nana all those times he held her and killed her instantly. Sazabi was a gun without even needing bullets (all of his previous weapons had been  _built into him_  for heaven’s sake), and even with the potential ability to sneak around his own security bolt...

She squeezed his hand. He didn’t squeeze back. She squeezed tighter.

“Thank you,” she said, feeling her vision blur again. “ _I’m_  sorry.”

The nurse came through for her. She was able to sit with him in quiet silence for almost forty minutes before she was asked to leave: visiting hours were over. She was escorted to the nearest gunperry and flown back down to her in-laws’ home. She had no idea what the temporal days ahead would bring, but she had to live.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket, looking at that picture of Sazabi and Nanako again. She kept her eyes glued on it all the way home.

Laugh, love, live free and sing.


	5. TA-N90

**Dead man lying on the bottom of the grave,**

**wondering when savior comes, is he gonna be saved?**

**Maybe you’re a sinner into your alternate life.**

**Maybe you’re a joker,**

**maybe you deserve to die.**

_Soldier Side_  – System of a Down

**i**

“Do you want to be Good Cop or Bad Cop?”

The part of his battle computer that still worked reactivated with a start: he wasn’t alone anymore. Damn. He was hoping he would be left by himself for just a little longer. It had been four days since his capture, and after knocking him offline, they had moved him from a cell to... wherever this was. He had only been awake for half an hour at best. Malware had been placed in his coding to prevent him from utilizing any of his weaponry functions, so he was vulnerable. He  _had_ to stay alert if he wanted any hope of surviving his imprisonment. At least he still had his hand-to-hand software scripts to refer to... although they did him little good with his wrists bound in cuffs and chained to the table in front of him. 

Thankfully, even with most of his combat-enhancers disabled, his hearing-sensors were still functioning at full capacity. That was  _something_ he could work with.

He maxed out the strain on his auditory-array to pick up on the conversation. It came beyond the large mirror splayed on the far wall. A preliminary scan after he first woke up indicated that it was actually a one-way window. The second room beyond it must have been a viewing station... so this  _was_ an interrogation chamber. Gerbera had similar rooms set up in the Fortress, albeit ones with far more torture devices handy. The room he was in now was mostly bare, sporting blank gunmetal grey walls and a single hanging light. There was a titanium slab table with two chairs, an alarm light and siren mounted above the single barred exit...

The room beyond the one-way window was now occupied, too. He could see the heat signatures on the other side of the window moving with his thermal sights. Malware laced battle computer be damned, they couldn’t dampen his vision: nor could they adequately soundproof the room with their feeble human-tech. He could hear and see  _everything_.

The occupants in the next room consisted of an unarmed mech and two humans. As one of the humans finished closing the entrance to the viewing room, the other two Neotopians moved to the window. They were  _looking_  at him. He kept his head down and tried to look small. It was degrading, but if he looked as non-imposing as possible...

“I don’t know, Mac... can we afford to do the whole Good Cop and Bad Cop routine?” Based on the direction of the sound, it was the human closest to the window talking. He could see the heat signature in its organic throat fluctuate as it vocalized. 

“Hannah, Robo House won’t take him. Not after what happened with Zapper and the... other one. Their whole  _department_  might be shut down. We have twenty hours to get whatever we can out of this mech before the rollover. That’s when Chief Haro has to make an executive decision about what to do with him.”

“If he’s not going to Robo House, what  _can_  they do with him? Commander Sazabi was put into a civilian house with security measures and the place  _still_ nearly burned down. No one is going to want to take him, and we don’t have long-term incarceration protocols.”

Maybe they would try to kill him. It would be the sensible thing to do, but it was mortifying all the same. His weapons were disarmed, but he could still eject his wing extensions if someone got too close. If stood up and pivoted on his pedes, he could easily hit someone upside the head with them and inflict decent injuries. Overall maneuverability was going to be an obvious issue if he had to defend himself. The table was secured to the floor with the toughest damn bolts this side of the Zakorello Gate. He had roughly a square foot to move in while confined this way. It was hardly useful enough to maneuver his legs, but any kick delivered hard enough would surely snap human bone. If only the majority of his battle-computer was still online... not being able to reference his own programming for guidance was a goddamn nightmare. He could still definitely fight without it, but he would make errors. He couldn’t  _afford_ to make errors: not when his life was on the line.

He wanted to  _live_.

“Maybe if you attack his pride, I can stoke his ego – get him to open up, you know? He hasn’t said a word since capture.”

“If you want to call  _that_ a capture. They’re saying both gunperries have to get scrapped because of the damage they sustained.”

“At least they stopped him from hitting the ground like all the others...”

“You didn’t answer my question, Mac. What do you think they’re gonna do with him?”

The GM, Mac, didn’t answer. The mech was already moving away from the window with the human following. Both of them were headed for the door connecting to his current cage. He switched to using his standard vision setting, watching the entrance intently as the security bars began to retract.

The door slid open.

The wounded Doga Bomber glared as his captors entered the space, flaring his optic.

He should have killed himself like all the others when he had the chance.

Too bad he was a damn fragging coward.

**ii**

His unit designation was TA-N90.

Within thirty seconds of his initial activation, he was given his first ballistics weapon: a handheld plasma railgun. It was a beautifully crafted semi-automatic weapon, optimized for use with Gundamium piercing rounds. He was already programmed with the necessary software to use it. Testing wasn’t required, but he was pulled aside to “sample” his particular production group, anyways. Professor Gerbera himself had been present when he was removed from the factory floor. So had Commander Nightingale.

“I barely see any difference between these models and the previous ones,” the massive femme said. She was built like a tank, supporting at least two tons of armor and armaments combined. Her red optic flashed accusingly at him as she cocked her huge head.  TA-N90 kept rigid and at attention despite the heat of her glare. He was not programmed to feel intimidated – but the sensation was still rising inside him all the same. Strange. An error in his code? “At least be creative with their designs.”

“The Doga Bombers have been aerodynamically perfect since their fourth-generation conception. Changing their design purely for aesthetic reasons would be an inefficient waste of resources.” Gerbera angled his neck upward to regard the massive femme. His optic was bright, but there was absolutely no warmness there. “They were not designed to be  _pretty_.”

“So long as it’s a conscious decision. I’d hate to see the General’s second-in-command lacking in...  _creativity_.” Nightingale circled TA-N90, looking him up and down. But mostly down: she towered over him by a solid four feet! Her servos were folded over her robust chassis. ”At least they’re moderately intimidating. Those Knight Gundam insects won’t know what hit them.” 

“Assigned to a competent Commander, this Doga Bomber and the others like him will perform superbly.” Gerbera gestured to TA-N90. “I have extremely high expectations for the Lacroa invasion.”

“Tell me, soldier: are you prepared to obey my every command?” Nightingale was directly speaking to  _him_ now, flashing her optic to demand the young mech’s full attention.  TA-N90 stood at attention. The femme continued. ”Are you prepared to stand on the threshold of destruction and serve the whims of our mighty General?”

“My sole purpose is to follow the orders of the Commander I am assigned to.” TA-N90 felt the response come from his vocalizer before he was even fully aware of it. It was vaguely distressing. He didn’t have to think about the words before they said them. It was an unnatural sensation for his A.I. to endure. Was it  _another_ potential error in his code? “I have no other reason to function.”

“Good.  _Excellent_.” Nightingale swiveled her optic, turning her massive helm towards the assembly line below. She surveyed the scene before finally pointing to a lone Zako soldier. The small mech was struggling to carry a large box of screws meant for loading into one of the machines, which was till churning out the newest batch of Doga Bombers. “That worthless runt there: kill him.”

TA-N90 hoisted his railgun and took aim, but he didn’t dare pull the trigger. “I am not currently programmed to engage friendly targets.”

“Urgh! Unbelievable! And here I thought you said that these units were  _flawless_.” Nightingale turned her wrath to Gerbera, flaring her optic and pointing angrily where the clueless Zako was still trying to get on with his task. “If your creations can think for themselves like this or have  _morals_ , they hold no chance of serving as an effective unit under my command! I gave this  _dog_  an order, and he instantly refused to obey!”

“TA-N90, please shoot out Commander Nightingale’s right kneecap.” Gerbera’s voice was completely stoic. He wasn’t looking at either of them.

TA-N90 was suddenly  _extremely_ aware of Gerbera’s energy signature. Something in his processor switched  _on_ and he acted accordingly. That sinking, unnatural sensation in his head returned and gripped him full force. He turned on his heel, pivoting his hips, and took aim with a steady hand. The shot rang out but Nightingale didn’t make a sound. She inhaled sharply, the sheer weight of her body already causing her leg to crumple. It wasn’t until she down was on her ruined knee that she cried out, swearing furiously.

“WHAT WAS  _THAT_ FOR!?” Her optic blazed as she finally found the voice to form a full sentence. The Commander’s expression was a mix of anger and pain. “ARE YOU  _KIDDING_  ME!?”

“Not only are they aerodynamically perfect, but my Doga Bombers are programmed with the strictest form of coding possible. I never gave him the directive to fall in with your command, so of  _course_  he would have hesitated. Before given to a leading unit for use, all the Doga Bomber units remain tied to  _my_  commands.” Gerbera rolled his optic apathetically. It made sense, though: TA-N90 still had his firearm raised with no urge to put it down. His head was swimming: was  _this_  what Gerbera was talking about?

“Awaiting orders, sir.” The response was automatic again. He felt like he couldn’t properly control himself. He wasn’t coded to feel so drastically unnerved... but just like before, he still felt that twinge of something  _deep_ in the back of his processor. Further errors in his code? How severe  _was_ this glitch of his? He was programmed to know what a Defective was, and he the penalty for that was death. He may not have been blind or deaf, but improper coding could be just as drastic under the right circumstances. Could he hide something like that? For how long?

He didn’t  _want_ to die. He was—

“I’ve lost track of that Zako.” Gerbera’s voice managed to bring him back to the present, if only for a little while. The scientist was scanning the crowd of workers before sighing and waving his hand nonchalantly. A signal. Another deep-rooted set of programming in TA-N90’s CPU forced him to turn and jump up onto the walkway railing to gain a better vantage point. His thrusters fired off to help maintain his balance. He raised his weapon to point at the increasingly nervous looking soldiers below.

The newly fledged Doga Bomber met optics with one of them. Somehow, through his stiff haze of obedient rigor, he recognized the emotion in her gaze that he was slowly beginning to feel himself. It bubbled -  _festered_. The femme staring back at him reflected the emotion in her gaze tenfold as he let his weapon visibly charge. The railgun’s coils sparked as it fully came to life. The barrel glowed. His finger twitched on the trigger. 

“This lot has been slow in production, anyways. TA-N90, please demonstrate to Nightingale how quickly you can eliminate them. Leave no survivors.  _Go_.”

He snapped his wings outward and activated his turbines, engines full throttle. He took to the air with his weapon raised and immediately opened fire. The first shot struck a Zako dead, sending them flying back almost a meter from the force of the blast alone. The screaming started as the rest scampered in vain for cover. TA-N90 stopped thinking as his personality-drivers were temporarily overwritten with the urge to  _obey_. The room’s energy signatures began to evaporate off his radar as he targeted down the newly designated hostiles, but the  _thing_ in his brain still taunted him.  It hooked its talons into the part of him that knew this newfound life meant he was irrevocably  _doomed_. He would suffer the same fate as all those Zakos someday. It was just a matter of time.

 Fear.

He felt  _Fear_.

**iii**

The “interview” did not go over well.

Honestly, the worst part was the fact his captors  _insisted_ it was an interview. TA-N90 knew better: this was an interrogation. No sweet-coating the truth would mask that. Although they never  _physically_ tortured him, he was starting to get annoyed with their less than stellar tactics. Were they even professionals? It had been an hour. He was getting  _bored_.

Interviews usually required the interviewee to speak, and TA-N90 was going to do no such thing.

The human called Hannah was the one taking on the presumed role of Bad Cop. She was of medium height with shoulder-length fiber helm-extensions and a tanned hide. TA-N90 didn’t have enough data available to him to determine her physical sex without in-depth scans, which he absolutely refused to do. Resorting to that on an organic just seemed...  _gross_. The GM kept referring to her with feminine pronouns, though. 

Hannah leaned forward and sneered at him again, as if this expression would somehow be intimidating. “You think you’re so  _tough_ , Axian?”

Yes, but he wasn’t going to break his silence just to retort the obvious. He just stared. She had already asked him this same question eight times, anyways.

The GM, Mac (what an ugly  _human_  sounding name), was standing maybe a little too close for comfort. He leaned in close to TA-N90’s receptor and rumbled in aggravation, visor flashing. “Geez, humans can get so pent up... of course he’s tough, Hannah.  _That’s_ why he’s not talking. You gotta do better than that to get through to an Axian.”

Again, TA-N90 said nothing. To be honest, he was getting  _really_ bored. At least the Fear from before was mostly gone... if it stayed at bay, he could tolerate this. At least until he could figure out a game plan for escaping, if it were still at all possible.

The human stood up and sighed in mock aggravation. TA-N90 could tell it was fake just by the way her vitals were reading. Her heart rate was accelerated, but not enough to warrant what he already registered human-aggression to be like. She was  _nervous_ , not angry. He had seen enough of human aggression-levels after Zako Red and Sazabi went down to know—

TA-N90 shuddered. He couldn’t help it. The memory of what happened after both command-units went down was a little too fresh.

Mac noticed his slight change in posture. Slag. Thankfully, the scrub GM misread his discomfort for annoyance. He reached out and jabbed TA-N90 in the shoulder with mock-affection. His body language was too tense for the motion or his following tone of voice to be legitimate. “Yeah, she annoys me sometimes, too. Humans can be obnoxious. Just don’t let her get to you.”

This was getting nowhere fast. TA-N90 broke his silence only out of sheer frustration. “This Good Cop and Bad Cop routine is terrible.”

He must have spooked them. The two interrogators looked at one another in silence... then promptly left the room. As they re-entered the viewing space and let the door close behind them, the second human in the room looked up and watched them enter.

“How did he know? Did he  _hear_  us when we all came in?” Mac’s voice strained, mortified.

“Maybe.” This was from the second human – not Hannah. The one TA-N90 still hadn’t seen in person see. Its heat-signature was fine and its vitals were oddly relaxed. Its voce was... what? Soothing? It was far less grating than Hannah’s, at least. “Scanning his specs and disabling what we thought was hazardous wasn’t exactly easy. Some things may have slipped through.”

“This room is soundproofed!” Hannah was leaning over the table at the second human, starting to shake. Adrenaline was surging through her.

“Right. But he can still hear everything we’re saying. Even right now.” 

Hannah was overheating. The human’s heart was racing. “ _Shit_. Mac—”

“Don’t worry. Let’s go down a few hallways. Renee?”

“I got it covered, Mac. I don’t think he’s going to be walking away anytime soon.”

“Just stay in here until we get back. We may need to take a different angle altogether. It could be awhile.” With that, the GM and Hannah the human left. TA-N90 heaved a sigh of relief and started regulating his intakes. He was starting to feel... cagey. He was becoming more and more aware of the fact the room had no windows. It was starting to seem smaller now that his captors were no longer there to distract—

The human stood up from the table and was  _walking to his door._

_What?_

Part of him was immediately perplexed. Did this human not receive an order to stay put? Why was it coming towards him? He watched, optic flared, as her heat signature stood by the door and swiped some kind of key. When it declined, she sighed and pulled back a panel, tweaking something...

Was... was this human  _hacking_  their own base’s card reader?

After a few more seconds, there was a click. The human swiped their card again and the door opened. TA-N90 barely had enough time to switch to his normal vision setting before the human was practically on top of him, seating herself down at the opposite end of his table.

The human – Renee – was fair skinned with short  _dark_  fiber helm-extensions. The human’s sex was immediately obvious even without a scan: when Gerbera gave them their mission details, Sazabi had not been on only target. He was the  _primary_  target, yes, but there were others. He used the feminine pronouns when describing Mayor Gathermoon. Humans with exceptionally large front steerage were usually female. In Neotopia, they also seemed to be in positions of power. Given the size of this human’s chassis, TA-N90 was worried. What rank was she?

The human was waving her hand in front of his sights. Almost  _touching_ him. TA-N90 jerked back to awareness just as her voice rang out. “My eyes are up here. Well. One of them is.”

TA-N90 looked up.

Renee had something in her hand – biofuel? It was wrapped in a silver foil casing. He would have retched at her consuming organic material in front of him had her gaze (or partially lack thereof) not been cause for further distraction. Her remaining eye was bright green. The other was covered with a black patch. A quick sensor scan indicated that the actual optic was physically missing. The nerve endings and organic cables that would have connected it to her processor were still there, albeit atrophied.

“Your optical sensor is... damaged?” TA-N90 scanned her again, unable to help but ask. Yes: behind the patch, her second optic  _was_  missing. “Humans are built with binocular vision. Why have you not been repaired?”

“Oh wow, so you  _can_  talk...” The human female made a strange upward curling motion with her mouthpiece. Thankfully he spent enough time around vented-mecha to vaguely recognize what could have been a grin. It took him another second to realize she had gotten him to speak.

TA-N90 sneered, arching his head upward. The human was taller than him, so it was the best he could do to make himself seem larger. “You invaded my space without prompt, human. Do I not have the right to instigate a question?”

He was half expecting her told scold him – he was a prisoner, after all. Instead, the human made  _that_   _face_  again and cleared her throat. “I got into a fight with a boy I knew when I was in middle school. He kept calling me names, so I pushed him. He took out my eye, so I broke both his legs. We got dragged to the ER before either one of us could do anymore damage.”

“You— _what?_ ” He tilted his head back and looked her over. This supple organic shattered another of her species’  _legs?_

“Want some?” She suddenly jabbed a piece of the biofuel she was eating towards him: too close. The bar was now unwrapped, exposing the brown-colored consumable within. He jerked his head back and glared. The female shrugged at his wordless decline and brought it to her mouth, biting into it with a set of horrifyingly small teeth. She chewed and swallowed. “Eeh, suit yourself.”

“What are you  _doing_  in here?” If this was some alternate interrogation scheme, it was the strangest one he had seen executed. Gerbera never had them in training physically, but they  _were_ programmed to behave as quietly as possible when confronted with an enemy. If torture was involved, they would just expire from the stress alone before they could be made to talk. This? This was just  _bizarre_. He felt perplexed but also oddly calm – not a good combination if he wanted to keep his vocalizer from running.

“It’s cold in the other room.” Renee rolled her optic. Her chest...  _bobbed_. It was unnerving and strangely satisfying all at once. Watching her frame shift was making him run a fraction too warm for his comfort. “Are you sure you’re not hungry? I can try to see if Mac and Hannah will get you some fuel. I’m only the consulting engineer. They’re the ones actually in charge of what happens to you... at least until the chief gives an executive order about what to do with you.”

“You’re not just going to destroy me?” TA-N90 felt his circuits crawl at the thought of being terminated.

Renee perked up at that. She was halfway through a bite of her fuel-bar, or whatever it was. She seemed to be enjoying it up until this point. After every bite, she sucked on the piece that was in her mouth for a bit before chewing and swallowing. It was... less and less  _blatantly_  disgusting the more he watched. “Wait. Do you really think we’re just going to flat out destroy you?”

 _Flat out._  So his imminent destruction wasn’t  _entirely_ out of the question. He had to fight to keep his voice even. ”Once you obtain the information you need, yes.”

“Is that why you won’t talk to us?”

“Partially.” He flashed his optic. “Your companions were also annoying me.”

“Mac Attack and Hanny try their best. They don’t mean it – they’re still new and we’re just short staffed. Our  _real_ high-ranked security team is busy with stuff on Neotopia’s surface. Interrogating you was designated low-priority too, since we’re still cleaning up the mess the rest of your friends left a few days ago.” Renee seemed to catch herself and flinched. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” TA-N90 leaned back and cocked his head.

“You know. About your friends.” Renee eyed her food, looking suddenly disinterested. Her hand turned it over to examine it. TA-N90 could see the raised hairs on her arm, the veins in her wrist, the small scar on the top of her hand... this human was somehow  _fascinating_ to him. He was drawn out of his daze when she spoke up again. “The SDG was only attempting to capture them. No one was expecting them to just... fly into the ground.”

“They were not my friends. The Dark Axis has no  _need_  for friends.” TA-N90 revved. “They were simply executing the only function they could follow under the circumstances.”

“ _Killing_  themselves?” Renee looked at him with that one green eye. Her gaze met his. It was uncanny looking a human in the face like this. Maybe it was the fact she only had the one optic. It certainly made it less unnerving to look at her. “Why?”

“Our commanding officer’s proxy was destroyed by Commander Sazabi when he ran himself into the hillside. We felt the loss of contact through our Newtype Network.”

“Newtype...?”

“It held us together as a unit. Doga Bombers are not  _full_ individuals in the manner we are programmed. We function as a flock. If the commanding officer we are assigned to dies or has their connection cut off from us, we have no direction. Without it, we must eliminate ourselves by any means necessary to ensure Dark Axis security isn’t compromised.”

Renee was staring at him intensely. Her breathing was even, but he could detect her vitals had shifted. Her heart was beating faster. “That’s  _horrible_.”

It suddenly occurred to him that he had probably – and by probably,  _definitely_ – revealed far too much information already. Curse this human and her casual demeanor! She had thrown him off guard! He didn’t reply in terror of exposing himself further. For a solid minute, silence passed between them. 

Renee went back to nibbling on her fuel-bar without looking at him, but he couldn’t stop looking at  _her_. He reasoned it was because she was the only interesting thing in the room. Her shoulders were toned in a way that exposed muscle matter. Organic or not, this human was likely strong for her size: something that he could appreciate as a soldier. If this human could fight, she could be considered  _moderately_  respectable despite being organic filth. Her losing an eye during a  _fight_  of all things gave her some extra points to work with. Peace loving or not, Neotopia managed to beat the Dark Axis once. If more humans like her existed, it made sense...

He ran his first in-depth scan on her, picking apart the specs as they came to him. He saved some of the data for later analysis while simultaneously picking apart other aspects as they arrived in his HUD. He reviewed her core temperature, hormone levels, the electrical synapses in her brain as they fired off—

“My name is Renee.” She said finally. She finished eating her candy bar and crinkled the wrapper in her hands. ”You probably already knew that since you can hear everything that goes on in the other room, though.”

He was so distracted analyzing her internals that he fumbled trying to respond. To think he had been bothered by engaging in the same behavior earlier: with  _this_ human, it was different. Hannah was disinteresting. Renee was... something else. “And?”

“Do you have a name? I mean. So long as you’re here and not anywhere else, we might as well call you  _something_.”

He paused. “My designation is TA-N90. I am a generation eight Doga Bomber aerial soldier in the Dark Axis invasion fleet.”

“TA-N90, huh?” Renee looked him up and down again... then looked down at the table. She drew her digit across its surface, marking invisible patterns. He tried to follow it and couldn’t. Finally, after a few of these repeated motions, she drew her hand back. “That’s kind of a mouthful. Do you mind if I just call you Tango? The spelling is pretty similar.”

He stared at her. The name was short and rolled off her glossa easily. The more it echoed in his own head, the more he almost  _liked_  it. The pleasant sensation was immediately quashed as he remembered where he was – what he was doing here. He was a prisoner. Not a guest, and certainly not an important one. ”Tailored designations are not for rank two soldiers like myself. They are reserved for rank three and higher. As a mass produced model, it is against Dark Axis military protocol to use custom titles.”

“Really?” The human female looked taken aback. “That’s really sad. None of you were allowed to have names?”

“Custom designations are a privilege,” TA-N90 said. “They are given to units with high importance.”

“Well here in Neotopia, we think everyone’s important!” The human smiled. “My  _full_  name is Renee Clarke, but like I said, you can just call me Renee. Would you like me to call you Tango? Or do you still want your letters and numbers for now?”

He almost pointed out that he only had one number in his identification code. He was distracted by the realization she giving him the option to choose. For  _himself_ , no less. “I... am not sure. I am willing to  _attempt_  using this alternate designation.”

“Okay, Tango. That sounds fine to me. If you decide you don’t like it, we’ll just stop using it, okay?”

It took TA-N90 a split second too long to process her words. We’ll.  _We_ will. He looked up, switching back to infrared. The GM and other human, Mac and Hannah, had returned and were standing watch behind the window silently. How long had they been there? The young Doga Bomber mentally berated himself for not hearing them. How dare he let himself be caught off guard like this! Had this human distracted him that much?

Renee stood up, pausing... and then widened her eye once, raising the eyebrow. TA-N90 couldn’t help but reciprocate. He flared his optic once at her in response; her mouth twisted upwards again in a grin. All at once he seemed to register  _why_ she was so much less disgusting now: her expressions were oddly Axian. Just like he had to her, had she been analyzing  _him_ the whole time? As she made her way to the door, she hesitated.

“Tango?” She turned to look at him briefly. “When the others all killed themselves... how come you didn’t?”

The question caught him off guard again, but not enough to draw an answer. He revved his engine and kept his silence.

It wasn’t until she left the room that he wished he answered. Maybe it would have kept her there for a few seconds longer. As soon as she was out of the room, TA-N90 switched to his thermal based vision. Hannah immediately reached across and grabbed Renee by her arm. The two humans left and Mac remained behind. TA-N90 could only assume she was in trouble for disobeying direct orders. Renee had been told to remain in the viewing room and instead broke formation to be in the interrogation chamber with him. Why? Did she think she could get information from him herself? Looking back, he silently cursed himself out – she certainly did. He just ran his  _vocalizer_  off, didn’t he? 

He made a scan of his primary hard-drive to see if there was malware that would have made it easier for him to break protocol and just spill information like that. No – there was nothing there. His information center was untouched. The only malware was in his weapons and combat computer.

But now Renee was gone. The warm energy she was emitted was gone with it, and the room just felt empty again. Smaller, too.  _That_  was an unwelcome change by itself, but Zeong Be Praised, was he actually  _missing_  a  _human?_

Hannah returned. Wordlessly, she entered his interrogation chamber and Mac remained behind outside. The Good Cop and Bad Cop routine was over. Renee remained missing.

TA-N90 dreaded the next “interviews.” He almost wished Renee had stayed.

**iv**

It had been six hours since the beginning of his interrogation. He was in the middle of another session when the human Thatcher arrived.

He heard the newcomer human walking down the hall before he even “saw” them with his infrared. Her footfalls were loud clicks that sounded less like walking and more like a gun trying to fire from an empty clip: decisive and threatening. She rounded the corner into “view,” being tailed by two much more burly humans, before barging into the viewing room adjacent to the interrogation chamber. She boldly walked over to the window and stood there rigidly, glaring straight at him. TA-N90 stared back.

The GM, Mac, shot up from his seat. “H-hey! You can’t be in here without—”

The new human turned and produced something from her subspace pocket, presenting it to the GM. Her hand was steady as she held it aloft. Mac immediately backed down, hesitated... then knocked on the glass window. Hannah stopped barraging TA-N90 with questions and retreated to the next room to reconvene with her partner. Once the door was closed behind her, the newcomer spoke.

“My name is Monique Thatcher,” the new human said firmly. Her voice was cold and brittle: it reminded him of Commander Nightingale. “I’m with the Personhood Preservation Society of Neotopia. Perhaps you’ve heard of us. We were formed after the... invasion.” 

“We know,” Hannah said. “I’ve seen you on NNN and other news channels. You’re its head chairwoman?” 

“The PPSN has petitioned for the immediate takeover of this investigation,” Thatcher continued. “Given the circumstances, you two are now under my authority.”

The word  _authority_  sent an unsettling data feedback up into TA-N90’s processor. He just barely resisted the urge to shudder. He watched through the wall as the human female exchanged something with Mac and Hannah – papers? Mac snatched it, looked it over...

“Chief Haro signed this.” Mac’s voice wavered. He sounded upset. “ _Why?_ ”

“He had no choice. We would have ensured of a public relations  _nightmare_ if he didn’t comply. It’s one thing for the Gundam Force to harbor war criminals, but it’s another to harbor those criminals under the guise of protecting the public... only to have  _additional_ enemy forces come through to go after them. Whether the Commander was being rescued by those Axians or pursued for execution does not matter. Civilians were injured and  _killed_. The PPSN provided enough signatures to warrant our demands being answered. That monstrosity in the next room is to be interrogated while I oversee the interaction. The public has a right to know how a  _blundering_  organization like this is handling their livelihoods.”

“Blundering?” Hannah sounded incredulous. “What’s that supposed to—?”

“You want to do  _what?”_  Mac’s voice was louder now – angry? The GM’s engine was visibly heating up in TA-N90’s thermal-sights. He was still reading the notice that was handed him him. “Increasing the EM field is out of the question. We use it as a quick way to deactivate mechs who are hostile. Constant exposure is—”

“Several scientists with the PPSN have assured me that the process will increase the likelihood of this mech talking about the Dark Axis. Think of it as turning down the temperature in a room with a hardened  _human_  criminal.” Thatcher’s voice was cold – she  _did_  sound like Nightingale. TA-N90 knew of the cruelty of humans in Lacroa, but he never imagined such a thing to exist in a world like Neotopia. “Completely harmless, yet enough to put him on edge. Extracting information will be quicker.”

“Except robots don’t react to constant EM fields the same way humans react to the cold. It’s more like shoving a human into a room filled with  _nerve gas_.” Mac’s voice was defensive. “You’ll fry his chips and shot out everything that runs on his processor.”

“I read the retrieval report for this – thing.” Thatcher’s voice curled. He could visualize her mouthpiece turning into a gross sneer. “This mech did not attempt to kill himself like the others. He was attempting to  _ascend_ before being stricken by one of the SDG’s gunperries. He has self-preservation. He  _will_  speak before the EM levels are too high. You have a mechanic on hand to evaluate his condition, yes?”

“Ms. Clarke was removed from the case after breaking security protocols.” Hannah’s voice was firm. Her posture was rigid, defensive like Mac’s. “She went into the room with him when no one was around. She attempted to initiate interrogation measures herself without supervision. She  _is_ an SDG operative, but her classification still puts her just barely above civilian level—”

“Ah. So she is a fellow Neotopian citizen seeking answers, I take it. Good. I could use a woman like that on my team. Since I am now in charge of this operation, I demand you bring her back at once.” Thatcher moved to the one-way window, looking into the room proper straight at him. TA-N90 continued staring straight back.

Thatcher’s voice was suddenly quiet. “Can he see us?”

“About that.” Mac made a hand gesture, fanning the orders he had been handed. “Ms. Clarke disabled his primary weapons systems, but his audio receptors must be able to funnel out and channel sound from a specific direction. Even with the soundproofing on, he can hear everything we say.”

Thatcher said something TA-N90 didn’t have a proper definition for. A curse? Either way, the woman’s heartrate accelerated and her endocrine system began producing a series of chemicals in a quick fight-flight reaction. He had seen it before in Lacroa. Adrenaline.

Hannah’s voice shook. “He’s tough. Renee got him to talk once, but...”

“Which of these controls works the EM field?”

Mac winced, pointing. “The dial and switch to your right. It can be set on a timer, but I’m telling you, upping the levels and leaving him exposed for that long will—”

“I suppose there’s no point in ignoring you, Invader.” Thatcher folded her hands behind her back. Despite her previously unsettled reaction, she had calmed down. TA-N90 wondered what level of military training she had received in the past to make such a quick recovery. If she was sent to oversee this operation, clearly she was para-military on a similar level as the SDG. Police? Her body temperature was cooling in the other room. “You know why I’m here. No more games with the Gundam Force. You are at the mercy of an entire  _world_  now. What do you have to say for yourself?”

TA-N90 knew he should have kept his vocalizer muted. Maybe, further in the future, his silence would have benefitted him. Instead he found himself leaning forward and staring straight at the one-way glass. As he switched to his standard-mode of sight, he found himself staring down his own reflection. He was scuffed from a brief brawl he managed to survive with the Commander, subsequent friendly fire from his fellow Doga Bombers trying to take out the same mech, being rammed by a gunperry when he hesitated committing suicide like all the others... he racked his short-term memory for the word she swore with, analyzed its usage, and retrofitted it into his own vocabulary in the manner he thought would be most offensive.

“Go fuck yourself.”

**v**

From the very beginning, he knew he wasn’t like the others.

TA-N90 wondered if it was an error in his code. He wasn’t a Defect in the sense that he would  _normally_ be slated for culling, but his perception of the world around him seemed to be different from the others. He was never as quick to snap like his more aggressive wingmates. Patience was more of a rarity than a virtue within the Dark Axis, and he certainly had it. Maybe it was the Fear of consequences that kept him more docile than his allies.

Then again, maybe that was just the fancy way of saying he was a coward. Death in the Dark Axis was an accepted part of existing within its ranks.

“In our world, it is survival of the fittest,” Nightingale said to her soldiers from the  _Black Musai_  Horn of War above Lacroa Castle, moments after the bagubagu made short work of its organic inhabitants. The surviving Knight Gundams had fled west with their rescued Princess in tow. The final part of the invasion would be to track and destroy them once and for all. “In the Dark Axis, it’s kill or  _be_  killed.”

But TA-N90 couldn’t accept it. Not on the part that he couldn’t inflict it on others, though: he was more than capable of that. Starting with the Zako workers in the factory on Gerbera’s command, he had slaughtered his way through life in the Dark Axis. He was a well-programmed, capable fighter even without long range or scoped weapons. Pistols and energy sabers were just tools: his  _real_ capacity for killing came from inside his own superstructure. Like anyone in the Dark Axis, it was a part of what made him  _him_. His lack of acceptance purely came from the fact that he valued his own life much more than the average nameless soldier. Could self-preservation be a malfunction? As cruel and vicious as Commander Nightingale was, she was right about certain things: it  _was_  kill or be killed in the Dark Axis, but he wanted to preserve his own life above all else. He had been created to destroy, but ensuring his own survival would always be the foremost of his priorities.

Most in the Dark Axis was driven by hatred and anger. Some were driven by sheer stupidity. TA-N90 was driven by Fear.

The notion that he could just simply cease to exist was the worst part. The Dark Axis existed for centuries. How was it that time could just march on without him if he died? Occasionally you heard stories about Commanders and squadron leaders who had an existential crisis and went mad on the job. TAN-90 didn’t think it was possible for mass produced grunts to share the sensation... but that kind of crisis was his life from the day of his activation.

When word spread to the Dark Axis that Sazabi survived his disastrous encounter with Neotopia’s Gundam Force, TA-N90 wondered if the Commander felt the same. Was  _he_  afraid of being destroyed? Did  _he_ wonder if anyone would remember him if the humans decided just to off him on a moment’s notice? Did he adapt to living among organic life as a survival tactic, possibly amidst his own presumed identity crisis? TA-N90 might not have been like his comrades, but if his presumptions were correct, he understood Commander Sazabi. He understood Commander Sazabi  _very_ well, and that was scary.

He wondered if either one of them would ever find peace. 

He wondered if any of them in the Dark Axis  _ever_ would.

**vi**

His headache was getting worse.

It wasn’t just his head, either: his chassis and limbs felt heavy. There was a sort of gravity that seemed to be suffocating the room, and the increased EM field was absolutely starting to bother him. He was fine at first: even when Hannah returned to the room to resume questioning, he was still managing to keep his cool. Now? His processor was slowing down, and he was getting occasional error messages in his HUD as his already handicapped supercomputer tried to adapt to the slight EM shifts.

The increased field wasn’t necessarily the problem, either. The fact its intensity was slowly being increased  _was_. Whenever he seemed to get close to adapting, Thatcher would turn the dial up just a little higher on the other side of the viewing glass. He was getting antsy because of it. As the EM field continued putting stress on his systems, he was becoming more and more aware of the fact the room was small and slowly starting to feel  _smaller_.

Hannah snapped something at him. The sound was directly in his audio receptor. TA-N90 jerked his head to the side and revved his engine threateningly, mentally scolding himself after the fact. He was going to reveal just how affected he was by the EM field of he reacted without monitoring himself. He couldn’t let these organics know they were getting the better of him.

“I asked you a question,” Hannah asked again. “Were there any other targets in your attack?”

It was the same question she was asking for... what? He checked his internal clock. It had only been an  _hour_  since the EM field was turned up! He groaned and tried not to sag. He was already exhausted and the field itself wasn’t even that concentrated. He dreaded to think of what the highest setting was: not high enough to knock him out, but...

“Look. It’s been ages. You can’t just not talk forev—”

TA-N90 heard a door open in the viewing room. He switched to infrared. As similar as humans looked, their silhouettes were at least identifiable. Renee wordlessly walked into the room, being trailed by the GM Mac. Thatcher turned around and wordlessly motioned for Renee to leave again. Renee backpedaled and left the room; Thatcher followed. They walked far enough away for both humans to disappear off his visual—

He was jabbed in the shoulder. The sudden contact was unexpected and he reacted accordingly. TA-N90 reeled in his chair and glared up at the human femme, ROARING his engine. “ _Do not touch me_.”

He was cracking.

“So you  _do_  talk.” Hannah pulled back, circling around him like a predator. “I was beginning to think that you were just another mindless drone like the rest of your Dark Axis cronies.”

Again, he mentally cursed himself for slipping up. That was when he was distracted again: he heard the door open in the other room. Back to infrared, he watched as Thatcher and Renee returned. Thatcher stepped up to the one-way window, reaching for and touching something on the console.

Not the dial for the EM generator, TA-N90 hoped. His migraine was getting worse.

“That’s enough, Agent Davis. Clarke is going to examine the Invader.” It was Thatcher’s voice. She had turned on an intercom. I want to see how the EM field is treating him.”

“Fuck you.” TA-N90 repeated, once again without meaning to. He watched Renee make her way towards the door. As Mac followed behind to swipe a keycard and let her in, Hannah retreated. As the door opened, Hannah swapped places with Renee. TA-N90 switched back to his standard vision.

Renee looked... strange. Her short fiber-helm extensions were tussled and her hide was sweaty. He ran a quick analysis of her body language, comparing it to how she previously behaved.  _Something_  had changed, obviously. As the door closed behind her, she looked up at him and forced her mouth to twist upward. The smile was fake. “Hi, Tango. Long time no see, huh?”

“You were gone for several hours...” He flashed his optic at her. “You were... detained?”

“I’m not exactly special ops. They weren’t happy about me coming in to see you...” Renee shifted on her pedes. “Can I come over?”

In the entire time he had been detained, it was the first time someone asked for  _permission_ to come closer. He rumbled, already feeling his frayed circuits calming. They weren’t firing off as fast, even with the EM field disturbing the feedback to his processor. “I would tolerate it, yes.”

“Okay.” Renee moved closer, making sure her motions were blatantly visible. It wasn’t being done for his benefit, surely. She had already approached him before with little regard. Was it because she was being monitored, this time? As she made her way over, she bypassed the second chair where originally she sat and flanked his right. On her belt was a small scanner. She held her hands up in as non-threatening a manner as possible. “I’m going to run a reading of your processor. We just want to make sure the EM field isn’t being too detrimental. How do you feel?”

He knew Thatcher and the others were all still watching him. Despite that, Renee’s presence was  _calming_. He didn’t feel as agitated as before. Maybe it was because she was the only human he had met who didn’t directly want anything from him. The others wanted to interrogate him for the express purpose of wounding the Dark Axis. This femme... she was just a  _civilian_ , or as close to it as you could get working within the SDG. When she questioned him before, it had been out of legitimate curiosity rather than enemy intervention.

Renee was not  _bad_.

“Tango?”

TA-N90 jolted back to awareness. She was closer now, holding a hand in front of his optical feed.

Her expression was strange. He couldn’t read it... but one of her hands was now holding another candy bar. ”Are you okay? Want some chocolate? It might make you feel better if you  _don’t_ feel okay.”

“I feel like scrap,” he admitted. He probably should have masked it, in hindsight. Thatcher was still listening in, after all. “This EM field is tweaking my sensor-net. Its difficult to listen to any line of questioning with a headache.”

Renee nodded, pulling up her scanner with one hand and putting the candy away with another. He never affirmed he wanted it, so she took it as a decline. She reached back up with her now free hand, pausing... before gently bracing it on the side of his head. Her servo was  _warm_. It was such a strange sensation but he was totally okay with it. He focused his frayed sensors to feel the “full” contact of her hand: the way her fluids moved through her small tubing, the “pulse” of her engine as it forced the fluid in and out of that limb...

There was a beep. She pulled her scanner back as well as her hand. TA-N90 was disappointed before he remembered she was  _organic._ The fact he was sad that she  _wasn’t_  touching him made the flier wonder if he was losing his mind. 

Renee’s voice was low. “Your processor is defragmented. Not a lot, but definitely more than it should be...”

That should have been the end of the conversation. Her duty was done, so she should have left. When she didn’t, his suspicions were confirmed. 

TA-N90 rumbled, finally breaking the silence between them. “That human female took you aside to speak with you in the hallway. Was it because she wanted you to speak with me?”

Renee tensed. He heard a commotion in he other room and wondered if the others were reacting similarly. Sure, they knew he could  _hear_ them, but...

Renee’s voice was flat. “You can see everyone in the other room?”

“My infrared still works. I’ve memorized everyone’s silhouettes.”

“Gotcha.” Renee seemed calmer now. She was smiling properly again. “You got me. Thatcher wanted me to check on you, but she heard about our conversation before. The fact you opened up for me and not Hannah or Mac was interesting to her. It got me out of being sent home and probably fired, that’s for sure.”

“Fired?” He turned his head to stare at her. “They were going to...  _incinerate_  you?”

“Oh God no! Not at all!” Renee looked horrified. “That’s just a term we say for... uh. Well, you probably don’t have it in the Dark Axis. Humans in Neotopia choose what jobs they want to work. If they do a bad job at it, they get ‘fired’ by their boss. It’s their way of saying they don’t want you to work for them anymore because you did something negligent or incompetent.”

“You speaking to me was considered negligent?”

“Well I did it without asking permission first. You  _are_ technically a war criminal alien from another dimension. I wasn’t exactly cleared to come in and chat.” Renee hesitated. She backed up, and at first TA-N90 panicked at the notion she was going to leave. When she sat down across from him, he felt relief explode across his sensors. She was  _staying_.

“So why did you?” It was a legitimate question.

There was a sharp knock on the window. Renee jerked in place and turned her head, looking stupidly at her own reflection in the one-way window.

TA-N90 revved. “She wants you to ask  _me_  the questions, I think.”

“I think so too...” She turned around in her seat, looking... what? It was that odd expression again. Her eye was somehow softer and her mouthpiece was creased. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fortunate for your organization that I happened to... tolerate you.” TA-N90 revved quietly. His headache was coming back, but focusing on the human femme was at least serving as a distraction. “You were not openly belligerent to me the same way your companions were.”

“Like I said, Mac and Hannah are a little rough because of all the stress.” She paused. “Since we’re talking nicely, I caught what Hanny was asking earlier...  _were_ there other targets? Or was it just the Commander.”

He seriously debated answering. “Before I answer any of your questions, I want to make it clear: I would only do so under the pretense of not being destroyed.”

Renee immediately perked up.  _”Destroyed?”_

“That is my only condition.” He rumbled his engine, hoping the rev would mask the sound of his voice if it strained. Although Renee’s effect on him was positive, it only lasted so long. As he got used to the room’s presence around him again, the EM field played off his sensors negatively. His migraine was back full force – the room seemed smaller than before. The thought of dying by itself made that sick sensation of  _Fear_ cling off his sensor net like a layer of caramelized oil. “The Commander was somehow allowed to survive in this dimension. Whatever condition he was allowed to function under, I want the same level.”

“I thought we already went over this. We aren’t going to hurt you.” 

“Not right away,” TA-N90 countered. “Not for as long as I have information useful to your dimension, but once I have nothing else to give, I do not want to be killed. That is my condition.” 

Renee looked  _very_ pale now. Her skin was clammy as she looked him over. Her voice strained. “Oh my god. Did you think we were really going to destroy you after this was done with?  _That’s_  why you didn’t want to talk to Hannah or Mac?”

“They were also annoying, but yes. That too.”

“Holy shit. Tango, the SDG would  _never_  do that.” Renee gestured to him with her hands. He couldn’t tell what it meant, but she continued speaking nevertheless. “I thought I was clear about that before. I should have explained it better. I’m so sorry you thought this whole time... sure, we destroyed some of the Doga Bombers and Doga Commandos during the Dark Axis invasion, but it was only in self-defense. We didn’t spare Sazabi because of some  _condition_. We spared him because we could disarm him and bring him in. We don’t kill  _anyone_  if we don’t have to. You’re completely unarmed and not hurting anyone, just like Sazabi. There’s no  _reason_  to hurt you.”

He stared at her. He scanned her repeatedly, over and over, trying to find  _any_ hint of deception in her behavior. Her brain was firing off normally. Her heartrate was accelerated but only in accordance with standard surprise. Her tone of voice showed she was certainly surprised at the notion that he seriously expected to be harmed at the end of all this. He let his body betray him as her behavior reassured him. He let his shoulders sag. He exhaled heavily through his vents, letting his cooling fans kick on and off to expel the burst faster. As small as the room was getting, as  _fearful_  as he had been before...

Renee was still talking. “—when they brought you in four days ago, I was the one who helped patch you up myself. Sure, they had me disable your weapons, but that was necessary. We wouldn’t have fixed you if we didn’t want you to be  _okay_  after all of this.”

He  _stared_.

“ _You_  were the one to repair me?” He felt like his fuel tank was going to implode on himself. This didn’t make sense! If he had been injured, why didn’t they let him expire? Interrogation was one thing, but if they truly didn’t mean to kill him at the end of all this, he was simply another fuel tank to fill. An  _enemy_ fuel tank, nonetheless. Giving up resources for him didn’t make sense. He didn’t understand. ”You are the enemy! Why  _would_  you repair me?”

“I just told you.” She gestured again. Once more, he was unable to understand its full meaning in context to their conversation. “The SDG doesn’t hurt people. We protect. You’re not hurting anyone right now, so you get to be protected too. Does that make sense?”

It did, and that bothered him. “After everything that the Dark Axis has done to this world, you would still be willing to show some of us amnesty?”

“Yes.” Her eye passed up and down, looking him over. He knew she wasn’t capable of scanning objects the same way he could, but he still couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking. “That’s why you didn’t kill yourself like the others. You were afraid of dying?”

Just the word  _afraid_ by itself set him on edge again. He couldn’t answer.

“If you help us, we’ll help you.” Renee leaned back in her seat. “We’re just having a conversation, right?”

“Sazabi was the primary target,” TA-N90 said quietly. He looked up at her, fixating his optic on hers. “But eliminating several others was set as a secondary objective, assuming enough of us survived the initial assault. Even unarmed, Sazabi was still deemed to be extremely dangerous.”

“How about we start from the beginning?” Renee leaned forward, but the gesture wasn’t threatening. TA-N90 dared to even admit it was slightly more comfortable. The closer she was, the less he had to focus on the shrinking space around him. “Is that okay?”

TA-N90 nodded. “Absolutely.”

**vii**

From atop the  _Black Musai_  Horn of War, a mess of jagged brambles surrounding what was once Lacroa Castle, Commander Nightingale’s voice boomed to an audience of statues. Maybe she was hoping the knights were listening elsewhere. Then again, maybe she just liked hearing herself talk. It didn’t matter: there was no one capable or left alive to stop her. “...and as you can see, there are those who  _rule_  and those who are  _ruled_. Your King has been petrified and your precious princess will soon follow. Your kingdom has been  _destroyed_.” 

TA-N90 was hovering with the rest of his flock, circled high above the remains of Lacroa’s capital. The castle and surrounding city in the canyon’s basin smoked with latent flames and laser craters. Water had stopped flowing from the Spirit Tree days earlier, and as the city dried up, the fires in the townhouses below continued to burn. The dead kingdom was silent.

Nightingale roared her engine, holding a petrified relic aloft. TA-N90 couldn’t be sure what it was. Some kind of flora? The Commander crushed it in her grip easily, sending dust to the choked wind. “Now all that remains is to seek out the survivors. You knights will not evade me for long – if you can hear this message, surrender now and I will make your deaths  _moderately_  painless.”

Taking the castle and the surrounding kingdom was not without deaths on their side too, though. TA-N90 had seen a large portion of his comrades go down in pieces. He had their serial-designations memorized out of necessity, but he did not know any of them personally. Crossbow bolts with reinforced Gundamium tips brought down HA-AUL and more than a hundred others like him. JA-A13 and several dozen others were overrun on the ground by crowds frightened civilians who overwhelmed them. UB-N07 and AZ-PKM were brought down by the King’s personal entourage of guards themselves, before the bagubagu finally stopped the humans’ retaliation once and for all.

TA-N90 was amazed he even survived the siege, honestly. When a blast of concentrated mana shot up at him from a Royal Knight on the ground, he barely dodged. None his comrades bothered to warn him as the blast nearly struck him in the back. He survived only because he was evading encroaching arrows from another adversary below.

He was alive purely out of luck. Not because of fighting skill or legitimate survival instinct. He was programmed to be subservient,  _not_ to survive for an extended period. He was defective  _and_ disposable.

The second he accidently dodged the mana bolt was the moment he realized exactly what he was. Expendable.

“In our world, it is survival of the fittest,” Nightingale said to her soldiers from the  _Black Musai_  Horn of War below. “In the Dark Axis, it’s kill or  _be_  killed.”

It was the first time since his creation that he hoped his commanding officer was wrong.

**viii**

He told her everything.

They cracked him. And all they had to do was put someone  _nice_  in front of him.

 _What a_   _weakling_.

**ix**

Renee waved her hand in front of him. She had that strange look on her face, and TA-N90 now fully understood what it was: worry. “Tango? Are you okay?”

He wasn’t.

He was only fourteen hours into containment: a little over the halfway point until they had to disengage and do something else with him. Except now he had gone ahead and told Renee  _everything_ , and here he was: still held prisoner.

And the EM field was getting worse.

“I really don’t... know anything else.” He glanced up, switching back to his thermal-view. Thatcher was still in the next room, along with her two cronies, Mac, and Hannah. They were gathered around the table reviewing something laid out. Datapads? He could detect a faint electrical readout as he tried to hone in, but the electromagnetic interference was making his head  _hurt_. Bad. “Is... is there a reason we’re still here?”

Renee had only stepped out once since their longwinded interview. After probing him for additional information (to which he responded how he  _couldn’t_  provide much else about the Dark Axis, he simply didn’t  _know_ ), Renee was apparently summoned out of the room. Three hard knocks on the window had her apologizing and standing up to leave. He was disappointed to see her go again – and perhaps even slightly nervous. She left him no reassurance she would come back, and he wanted her to come back. She could see her, Hannah, Mac, and Thatcher leave through the side door to communicate where he couldn’t hear. The cronies stood by and remained in the room. One of them even went as far as to step forward and turn up the EM field on the console. Even  _despite_  his willingness to divulge information, nonetheless!

When Renee returned, the flesh on her face was flushed red. Had she gone through some strenuous experience to make the blood rush to her skin in such a manner? He couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t going to ask. She insisted everything was fine, that they had to wait longer...

“You didn’t answer my question before,” Renee said, sitting up. “You... you look like shit, Tango. Way more than when I fixed you up before.”

“You have yet to answer my  _own_  question.” He tried to sit up, wondering just how obvious his discomfort was. How odd it was that she could read him better than he could read her! Curse these humans being so used to mecha, while he was struggling to determine anything about humans. “Does... does the femme believe I am withholding more information?”

Renee sighed, exasperated. She reached up and ran a servo over the top of her helm. ”It’s a formality. They want to keep you through the twenty-hour containment period. Just until Chief Haro’s executive “hold” on dealing with you rolls over. It’s in case there’s anything you... remember.”

“I do not understand.” He grimaced, reaching up to rub his helm. “I was a grunt-ranked, class two soldier. I was not given access to classified information. I only know details of our operation as they are presented to me on a need-to-know basis.”

“I know. I believe you.” Renee turned her face upward again. She offered another one of her gentle smiles. “You’ve never given me a reason to think you’re lying.”

“You are the only human that does not show immediate disdain for me,” TA-N90 said. “It’s... strange.  _Why_  trust me so much?”

Renee paused. She watched him evenly, her optic passing over him briefly. Scanning his body language, again? After a few seconds, she shrugged. “You’re... different. Calm. You’re not what I expected an Axian to be like. You’re quiet, I guess?”

TA-N90 scoffed. The sound made his head ache more. He flinched and reached up, rubbing his helmet with both hands – as if that would somehow ease his suffering. It didn’t.

“Hey. Seriously, Tango. Are you okay?”

When he got his bearings back to look up at her, he regretted it. As his sights came back into focus, his HUD malfunctioned. His depth-perception readouts came back with faulty data. The room was suddenly  _extremely_  small around and continuing to shrink inwards. He roared his engine and pulled back on his restraints with the intent to back into the furthest corner of the room: to put more space between him and the rapidly encroaching walls.

“ _Whoa! Hey!”_  Renee immediately stood up, holding her hands out. As she did, his HUD corrected itself. As the exact measurements of the room corrected themselves, he felt his engine choking on its own RPM. His chest felt knotted. His vocalizer made a sound – a high pitched whine – to betray his anxiety.

He felt like he was falling.

“—might need someone from the mech-hospital! Is Keene or Hodges still around!?” Renee wasn’t talking to him now. She was looking over her shoulder at the one-way window. She came up directly next to him, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder  _hard_. Was she trying to hold him in place? ”Tango, come back! Can you hear me!?”

“My spacial-recognition malfunctioned,” he blurted out. “The room— it came rushing  _in_.”

“You’re claustrophobic?” Renee’s hand squeezed on his shoulder. The sensation of  _touch_  was barely registering through his armor, but the pressure was at least something for him to focus on.  As the room warbled again, he struggled to cling onto that sensation. He was failing. Not even Renee’s presence could calm him this time.

He felt like he was  _falling_.

 _“Renee—!”_ He hadn’t meant to call out for her, but he was desperate. His voice was an octave higher. His vision tunneled in blind panic.

“Brace your feet on the floor and— can you completely deactivate your optical display? Turn it off?” Her talking to him was soothing. Her energy alone wasn’t enough to keep him grounded, but her voice-font was a previously underappreciated tether. She reached out with her other hand, grabbing one of his wrists as he continued pulling back on his shackles.

There was a voice over the intercom. He couldn’t tell who it was. His audio-receptors were flushed with static. Was he having am anxiety attack? “Renee! Get away from him!”

She didn’t move.

TA-N90 evaluated his situation accordingly. If he deactivated his visual display, he would be blinded entirely. No more thermal viewing. No more standard sight, either. But the room was continuing to fluctuate between fine and too small  _too small TOO SMALL._ With no place left to turn, he thrust his faith into the human’s demands and completely offlined his vision center. He ground his pedes and pressed them as hard as he could to the floor. He started to vent deeply—

“No— don’t do deep breathing. Focusing on slowing it  _down_.”

He listened to her. As he struggled to find a pace, she started ventilating next to him in an odd manner. He mimicked her, focusing only where her servos made contact with his armor. They were warm – soft. Her blood was rushing and so was a chemical mix of adrenaline and other chemicals, but as it started to slow, he realized  _he_  was slowing down too. His pedes weren’t digging into the floor as intensely. He wasn’t pulling back on his cuffs with so much force.

“Pretend you have something heavy on your shoulders,” Renee’s voice was quieter.  _Soothing_. “Roll your head back.”

Again, he did as he was told. He didn’t even care that he was taking orders from a human at this point. As his synced intakes with her slowed even further, never going too deep to strain his cooling fans, he started to feel his head pound. The overwhelming anxiety and  _panic panic panic_  was gone, but the EM field’s interference remained. He whimpered. This was beyond being uncomfortable now. This was  _painful_. He was  _hurting_.

“Thatcher, we  _need_  to turn off the electromagnetic field.” Renee wasn’t talking to him anymore. Her voice shook. “A small burst can temporarily incapacitate a mech, but a long one over a period is going to  _kill_  someone. A busted HUD and a claustrophobic mech is one thing. What happens when he starts to have a full-blown, slow-burn system crash? He isn’t hiding anything!”

“Your services are no longer required, Ms. Clarke.” Thatcher’s voice was cool. Her voice wasn’t filtered with the distinct static of an intercom. When had she come into the room? TA-N90 would have reactivated his visual display, but he was too afraid to. Not now. Not this soon. “You will be debriefed and sent home.”

“You’re  _not_  getting away with this.” Renee’s venomous tone seemed to hint at something sinister. “Mac and Hannah might be under your thumb, but I’m not. I’m not a full member of the SDG. I’m technically not even at  _intern_  level. I’m borrowed. You can’t hurt me. I won’t let you hurt someone who hasn’t done anything.”

“I said your services are no longer required.” Thatcher’s voice was cold. “Please go. Immediately.”

Renee squeezed TA-N90’s shoulder.

He revved his engine in reply.

“I’ll be back,” she said calmly. She paused... then pulled her hands away. TA-N90 wished she hadn’t let go. There was the sound of shuffling as  _something_ was placed on the table in front of him. TA-N90 immediately reached out to touch whatever it was. Smooth, cool, and... moldable? He curled his digits into it, turning his servos into fists. Even if he couldn’t see what Renee had given him (why  _else_  would she put something directly in front of him?) he was going to prevent Thatcher from potentially taking it. Renee’s footfalls echoed as she left. Her distinct “energy” was gone from his scanners moments later.

The room was quiet. Swas the room beyond. When he reactivated his optic an hour later, his HUD had completely offlined: destroyed by the ever-present EM field. The room at least managed to look  _normal,_ but couldn’t switch to his thermal-view either. He couldn’t see who was in the next room anymore, but he  _could_ see what was given to him: in his fisted servos was Renee’s jacket. As he searched it, he found one of her plastic-wrapped candy bars in a pocket. It was the same second one she had offered him just a few hours earlier.

He unhinged his emergency hatch for a split second, eating the whole thing wrapper in all. Then he planted his head on the table. Using the jacket as a buffer, he cried for the first time in his life.

**x**

Everyone in the Dark Axis, even those who held the same rank as him, feared and respected Commander Sazabi.

TA-N90 couldn’t help but feel slightly betrayed thinking about him. As terrifying as the Commanders were, even  _unprovoked_ , they were still a staple symbol within the army. Their sigil could only do so much to strike terror into their enemies, and even then, it was not used as often as the visage of the Commanders. Commander Nightingale was massive, with a cruel nature matched only by her jagged frame and heavy armaments. Commander Bawoo had a sharp wit and an even sharper set of sheathed photon-blades hiding in his arms. Commander Braun-Doc was a tactical specialist regarding guerilla warfare, Commander Zssa could practically  _talk_  the enemy into surrounding themselves to the whims of the General, and Commander Qubeley was the kind of femme who could stun her enemies into submission with just her grace (and strategically dropped nuclear warheads) alone.

The Commanders were the true sigils of the Dark Axis, and Commander Sazabi was  _the_  crown jewel. He was the  _leader_  of the Commander Fold.

He was the best they had.

TA-N90 never got to meet Commander Sazabi in person, but he heard war stories. Fantastic,  _brutal_  war stories! Stories that detailed fearsome battles where the Dark Axis’ enemies were gunned down by six lightning fast funnels. Those who resisted their own deaths would be quickly corralled until –  _crack!_ Obliteration! The Commander, atop his Horn of War, would unleash the full force of his particle-canon. The corralled mechs in his path would be atomized instantly! Those not ruthlessly killed by his funnels or mega-canon would still have to face oblivion in the face of raining plasma bursts from the rest of Sazabi’s mounted weapons.

Those who tried to run stood no chance, either. Commander Sazabi was  _the_  fastest mech in the entire Dark Axis. From zero to mach one in under thirty seconds, none could escape his wrath. He was fast, extremely adept in hand-to-hand combat, a master saber wielder, charismatic,  _cruel_...

Nightingale was known to randomly kill soldiers who annoyed her. Sazabi was known to slaughter entire  _platoons_ simply to make a point. To be killed by him was considered a privilege among some of the older Doga Bombers who knew of his fury. He was judge, jury, and executioner.

He nearly died a martyr. Except he didn’t stay dead. 

When news spread of his demise at the hands of Neotopia, there was chaos in the Dark Axis. The other Commanders, comfortable in a military ruled by the might of their superior unit, flew into a panic. How could the best of them be beaten so easily!? The rest of the soldiers fared no better. Some begged for the opportunity to be smelted, unable to cope with the mere notion that the best of them, their crown jewel, could have been destroyed. The Dark Axis was thrown headlong into chaos. The loss of Sazabi was more intense than any loss sustained by the Dark Axis in its known history (or at least as far back as TA-N90 could trace, as their army  _had_  no written history). The Commander was grieved even more than the Doga Bombers’ beloved, fallen Commandos.

Then came the whispers: that the Commander had  _survived!_

TA-N90 couldn’t be sure where the rumor started. Maybe it was in the ranks of older soldiers, Doga Bomber and Zako alike, who refused to accept the fate of their departed Commander. Then again, the other Commanders were suddenly very quiet about the whole affair, too. Nightingale herself, always brutal and fast to snap at those who questioned her, suddenly refused to speak about Sazabi. She would  _always_  take an opportunity to curse him out, even in death (she was the only Commander who didn’t mind his loss, but her disdain for him was never a secret anyways). Now she was skittish.  _Nervous_. Something was up, and the rest of the Fold knew it. Something dark.

The whole affair was a plot thick enough for the General’s own prophet to get involved.

When TA-N90 was randomly selected to participate in a briefing with Professor Gerbera himself, it became abundantly clear what was wrong: Commander Sazabi  _had_  survived, held prisoner by the enemy in a strange “house arrest” arrangement! Stripped of his weapons and dignity, surrounded by organics _,_ their epic hero had endured.

But TA-N90 was not selected to participate in a rescue mission. No, this was going to be an  _assassination_.

“Commander Sazabi has become a liability,” Gerbera announced after the big reveal of the operation’s purpose, standing over the crowd of selected soldiers. There were one hundred and fifty of them lined in neat rows, many of whom were older units. TA-N90 almost felt out of place before the explanation was given. “You have all been chosen based on your specs and past mission assessments. Despite being disarmed by the humans he has  _willingly_  allied himself with, Commander Sazabi is still a keter-level hazard. In flight, he will evade and attempt to disorient you to defend himself. Your purpose will be to confuse him. Divebomb, fire upon, and generally attempt to distract him. One shot from a  _confiscated_  EMP rifle, currently in the possession of Agent Char – Zako Red – will render him immobile for proper retrieval.  _If_ he survives. Preferably we  _would_ like to keep him alive, but his destruction is equally acceptable. It would be much more satisfying to feed him to the General after the severity of his crimes.”

It amazed TA-N90, honestly. The other Doga Bombers, many of whom vocally idolized and feared the Commander, were now revving and geared to destroy him. How hypocritical! Of  _course_ the Commander would willingly work the humans if he was a prisoner: he was just trying to survive! The young Doga Bomber wondered if his reasoning had to do with his  _own_  overly-active sense of self-preservation. He sympathized with the Commander. 

Then, with a start, he realized  _he was going up against Commander Sazabi himself._ Panic gripped him. Stripped weaponless by the humans or not, they were going to suffer massive casualties at the hands of their Crown Jewel. TA-N90 would be lucky if he died painlessly. The contents in his fuel tank refused to settle and he felt like he was going to purge right then and there.

“Your orders stand,” Gerbera said. His calm tenor was replaced with a brutal hiss, crueler than his usual tone. He was angry. Gerbera  _never_  got angry. “If Sazabi is successfully dealt with, additional targets are to be sought out as a secondary objective. All other mission specs will follow standard protocol. Prepare to receive your digital instructions and mobilize.”

TA-N90 pitied Commander Sazabi. He pitied himself.

**xi**

He met Monique Thatcher for the first time. He was nineteen hours and forty-seven minutes into containment. Renee still hadn’t come back.

He  _missed_  her.

Then again, he supposed  _anyone_  would have missed Renee if she was suddenly replaced by the gangly, unpleasant femme that Thatcher was. TA-N90 almost didn’t even realize she was in the room with him until she coughed: an attempt to get his attention without getting to close. The older human  _also_ had a large forward steerage, but nowhere near as impressive as Renee’s. She was also “dressed” in a style of exterior armor that seemed to correlate with a human in a position of power. There were some stripes, a decorative pin on her chest, her greying “hair” pulled up and tightly bound... 

Not only did she sound like Nightingale, but Thatcher carried herself the same way as well. The aged human had entered the space with a datapad grasped in both hands, standing tall and proud. Thatcher’s scowl deepened as TA-N90 looked up from having his face planted in Renee’s clothing. The organic’s face was hideous. 

“Axian.” She did not move from her spot. ”Your holding time is almost up.”

“Good,” the Doga Bomber ground out. It hurt to speak, never mind even think. He didn’t even care that she had snuck up on him. “You’ve increased the intensity of the EM field again.”

“I hope it’s uncomfortable. You make me  _sick_.” She leaned forward while still keeping her distance, glowering at him. It was unnerving to be stared at with two optics – he  _really_  missed Renee. Thatcher’s gaze was venomous  _and_ uncomfortable. “There is no place in this society for warmongering aliens like  _your_  kind. Neotopia learned its lesson after the first invasion. The Dark Axis will  _never_  come so close to trumping us again. And we will  _not_  allow the Super Dimensional Guard to go easy on those who threaten our peaceful society.”

“What do you want?” TA-N90 narrowed his optic, letting it glow dimly: a silent threat demanding that the offending human back off. 

“I am giving you one last chance to tell us everything you know, Axian. After that... well. Time will tell.” Thatcher scrunched her nose. It was an ugly expression. 

“I already told Renee everything.” The shuddering mech lifted the rest of his head up to glower at her. Her image warbled as his vision flashed static. The pulses of electromagnetic interference was getting progressively worse. At the moment, his imaging was switching back and forth between color, greyscale, and shaded tones of hued sepia. It wouldn’t be long before his logic-center started throwing things off, too. It would only be a matter of time before he got his first stasis-lock warnings, too. “I’m... I’m not a high ranked soldier. We were given information on missions and dealings within the Dark Axis on a limited-disclosure basis only.”

“I don’t believe you.” Thatcher made a face at him and turned her head upward. “You may have had Ms. Clarke fooled, but  _I’m_ not some lowly mechanic who couldn’t cut it as a proper mech-medic. Why did the Dark Axis attack Neotopia?”

“Resources?” TA-N90 couldn’t help but sound sarcastic. His head hurt and this femme was starting to aggravate him  _intensely_. He missed being berated by Mac and Hannah by comparison. He wondered if they were still in the other room. Probably. The way Thatcher spoke about Renee instantly had him edge, too. ”What do you  _hope_  to get out of this interrogation? The attack on Neotopia failed. My allies and I were unable to eliminate the Commander – he did our job  _for_  us.”

“You attacked the city!” Thatcher was looking equally annoyed now. “You attempted to murder civilians! Succeeded, even!”

“My comrades committed  _suicide_.” TA-N90’s voice was a growl. “Casualties were merely coincidental.”

“When is the next attack on Neotopia?”

“There is none.”

“You are  _lying_.”

“I am  _tired_.” TA-N90 tried to check his internal clock and internally swore – that was busted now, too. “I just— when do I get  _out_ of here? My holding time is almost up. Renee promised that I would be able to leave. The Gundam Force won’t hurt me and I cooperated to the best of my ability.”

“You’re not leaving this room ever, I’m afraid.”

He stared at her. “What?”

Thatcher sneered at him. She was shaking with rage now, unable to control herself. It was just like Commander Nightingale before one of her infamous tantrums: the same kind of tantrums that usually left one or two unlucky soldiers dead. ”The Gundam Force failed Neotopia on the containment of Commander Sazabi. You admitted it yourself. By allowing the Commander to co-exist among us without punishment,  _alive_ , Neotopia was invaded once again.”

“This was hardly an invasi—”

“My daughter’s best friend is  _dead!_ ” Thatcher boldly surged forward and slapped her hands down on the table  _hard_. She hardly had the strength to slam her fists down full force, but the point was put across to him all the same. The sound sent an explosion of pain across TA-N90’s overworked sensor-net, too. Even without his scanners, he could tell she was infuriated. “Crushed and trapped inside her own burning car when one of your  _friends_ decided to come crashing on top of her! It would have never happened if we simply punished Sazabi the way we  _should_  have. We cannot have  _any_  ties to the Dark Axis remaining on our colony if we are to survive!”

She leaned forward. The low lighting cut shadows across her face. For the first time in his life knowing them, TA-N90 felt properly  _afraid_  of a human.

“That includes  _you_.”

Within a matter of seconds, it became abundantly clear to TA-N90 what was going to happen to him: he was going to be  _destroyed_. For whatever reason (most likely through the intervention of Thatcher controlling his interrogation), the circumstances that allowed Commander Sazabi to be spared were  _not_ going to apply to him. One “invasion” too many had proved too much for Neotopia to handle: leniency was no longer an option to them. His death warrant had literally been signed and handed to this organic  _hours earlier._

Renee asked earlier him if he had been afraid - why he refused to kill himself like his comrades. He had refused to answer.

Now his answer was definite: he was  _extremely_  afraid.

TA-N90 sharply stood up with lightning fast speed, yanking on his restraints desperately. His chair was bowled over backwards and landed on the floor with a crash. The strengthened EM field in the room made his vision flicker with binary and static –  _no!_ He couldn’t pass out!  _Not now! NOT NOW!_

TA-N90 wasn’t just afraid. Being afraid as a singular didn’t come  _close_ to what he was feeling at that moment. Now he  _really_ understood why he refused to kill himself like all the other Doga Bombers: he wanted to  _live_. He was horrified at the notion of dying and the rest of everyone else marching on without him. It wasn’t just the desperation to survive that possessed him to react the way he had. 

He felt Fear. 

Unrestrained, uncontrolled, unfiltered  _Fear_.

Thatcher threw herself backwards against the one-way window, stumbling clumsily on her high-heeled pedes. As he continued pulling on his shackles, a swift arch of his head caused his stabilizer-fin to  _whack_ the hanging light above the table. The light swung like an aggressive pendulum, casting wildly shifting shadows over every surface of the room. He couldn’t properly focus on Thatcher with his vision fading in and out either, but—wait! Was she slamming her hands on the glass? The EM generator was on the other side! Was it a signal to turn it to its maximum and finish him off? Were her two silent guards going to come rushing in with a weapon to permanently offline him? Would Hannah or Mac?

He was standing on the top of his own grave.

FEAR.

TA-N90 tugged harder at his restraints, feeling something deep inside him  _ignite_. Thatcher was screaming now, her voice strained into a shriek. There was roar of static in his own audials that nearly drowned her out... it took him another moment to realize it wasn’t just static. It was his  _turbines_. Fighting past a strange “blank” spot in his malware laced processor, his turbines finally sprang to life as a result. He snapped his wings out to their full length. His flight boosters and ntigravs activated with a start, his flight-computer automatically redirecting itself to function without the need for his forcibly disabled battle computer—

He gained lift off the ground.  _Slamming_  down on his internal accelerator, the Doga Bomber redirected the push of his thrusters forward and away from him. He went from zero to forty-two knots in less than a second. The force of the sudden acceleration didn’t break the cuffs (the electromagnetic field reinforced that they would be more indestructible than usual), but the bolts holding down the table stood no match. The four-hundred-pound steel table was ripped free from the ground with a sick squeal of metal-on-metal. 

An alarm started to sound in the room. The light above the siren he noticed at the beginning of his twenty-hour holding period was flashing red.

“In our world, it is survival of the fittest,” Nightingale said to her soldiers once. “In the Dark Axis, it’s kill or  _be_  killed.”

TA-N90 dropped back down to the ground and backed himself up into the furthest corner of the room. He heaved his bound servos up with a howl, and using the momentum from the still airborne table, he brought his arms down as fast and as  _hard_ as he could. The table was cheap steel, because it split apart easily as it was brought down. The cuffs snapped free from the tabletop, still binding his wrists together and dangling with a chain, but he was no longer weighed down. TA-N90 reached to seize a table leg where it had been split and brandished it like a club. His emergency oral hatch snapped open too. some part of his processor, furiously struggling to function within the EM field, had somehow rewired itself out of pure stress to weaponize a part of his body not normally considered a weapon. His wings stayed spread, turbines still redirected around and positioned to burn anyone who came too close.

Thatcher was on the floor now. Had she fallen over? The woman was scrambling on her servos and knees, scuttling for the door in a pathetic crawl. TA-N90’s brain started screaming at him:  _destroy_. She was a threat to his safety and had to be eliminated  _immediately!_ KILL OR  _BE_ KILLED! The Doga Bomber let out a cry as he attempted to surge at her, but the door exploded inward and caught him off guard. Before Thatcher could reach the exit- and before TA-N90 could reach  _Thatcher_ - several shapes came rushing in. All of them were obviously human, and all of them were armed. Many carried full body-length shields and– were those  _weapons?_ Yes!  _Clubs!_ Blunt weapons meant for bludgeoning him to death, just like the one he had now! Some instinctual-programming from a long-lost base for his design made him open his jaws wide, releasing a circuit-chilling  _scream_. A warning! Stay away,  _don’t come any closer!_

It was happening so fast. Too fast.

His vision wavered with binary and he nearly fell over.

Don’t collapse! YOU WILL DIE!

_KILL OR BE KILLED KILL OR BE KILLED KILL OR BE KILLED_

More shapes were shoving their way into the room. His olfactory sensors picked up on a familiar scent – another lost relic of whatever common ancestor his mold was based off. His vision was blurry with static, but even if he couldn’t see her, he knew it was  _her_.

“TANGO! Tango, please! Calm down! She can’t hurt you! I got to Chief Haro in time— Tango, put the weapon  _down_ —!”

He opened his jaws wide and made a choked sound. He suddenly found he couldn’t speak:  _he couldn’t call out for her._   Whether his panic attack or the EM field had disrupted his processor’s ability to communicate with his vocalizer, he couldn’t be sure. His processor wasn’t funneling information correctly. His logic-center had borderline crashed during his fit. He felt like he was dying. Maybe he was.

“Turn that thing  _off!”_  A tall, blue clad human with an oddly shaped green helm was barking at the other organics who had stormed in. “That’s a direct order!  _Do it now!”_

“Renee, don’t get too close!” Was that Hannah?

“What are you doing!?” Thatcher. The femme sounded breathless, frightened and furious all at once. “We signed a wavier, Haro! Legal documents!”

“My executive powers over our prisoner end twenty hours after initial containment. I have the legal authority to discontinue old agreements and create new ones within the allotted time. This engineer warned me of the tactics you were using and immediately came to me with a new deal. Without Robo House, this Doga Bomber is assigned to Renee Clarke under indefinite house arrest with a security bolt.”

“You’re doing the same thing!?  _After what happened!?”_  Thatcher made a shrill sound, between a scream and a squeal. TA-N90 couldn’t be sure  _what_  it was. “The public will hear about this! We will rip this farce of an organization to pieces!”

Chief Haro, whoever he was, didn’t answer.

TA-N90 was suddenly very much aware of a sensation of weightlessness. He wondered if he had started hovering, but then he realized he couldn’t move. He was... sinking? Falling? The scrape of metal on metal and a dull pain in his wings seemed to indicate he was leaning against the wall and slowly slumping down. The room somehow seemed brighter and his headache was gone, being gradually replaced by an intense feeling of nausea. Had the EM field finally been turned off? He wondered if he  _was_ dying. He was on his aft and slumping forward in seconds. His head was too heavy to hold up.

A human hand was placed over his chest. Someone was shouting for help. He reached up to touch the offending limb, and as he did, another was pressed against his helm. It was familiar. Comforting.  _Safe_.

“I can’t  _breathe.”_  TA-N90 felt his voice shake and fritz out. He wanted to beg, but for what? Mercy? Release?

“You’re okay,” Renee said. “You’re  _okay.”_

He drifted away and was gone.

_Kill or be killed._

**xii**

Their link to Gerbera’s proxy was cut.

The Commander had Zako Red in his locked arms, and the soldiers were unable to intervene before death claimed both of them. The crown jewel of the Dark Axis streaked through the sky in a flash of crimson and gold. The Doga Bomber flock sent to Neotopia by Gerbera to could do nothing but watch as they came roaring back down from the thermosphere. As Commander Sazabi collided with the hill in the distance, the resounding thunderclap echoed as final tribute to seal his fate. Sazabi and Char were dead.

The Dogas continued swarming over the panicked city for a moment, unsure what to do. TA-N90 felt like his engine was going to drop into his fuel tank as he slowed to a hover, staring at the crater as it appeared through the dust and smoke. He had already witnessed his fellow Doga Bombers cannibalize one of their own on Zako Red’s command. The Color Guard agent needed to be modded to fly, so Gerbera’s proxy simply had a handful of soldiers rip ST-3v3 to pieces simply for his turbines and wing mounts. TA-N90 had already witnessed the sheer flight capabilities of the Commander first hand, nearly getting ripped to pieces in the process. He had witnessed the demise of Sazabi firsthand. 

It was overwhelming. The world was  _spinning_. The collective Newtype Network that kept them held together was collapsing.

“Gerbera’s proxy has been destroyed,” one of the other soldiers called out somewhere above him. TA-N90 couldn’t be bothered to remember who spoke. As he looked up, he could see the mech was shaking in a mix of awe and rage. Maybe even terror.

TA-N90 looked around at the surviving members of the flock. At least five dozen of them had been killed by the Commander and resulting friendly fire already. Those who were left looked exhausted, turbines sputtering as they attempted to control their still racing engines. One of the soldiers adjacent to him even had visible laser scarring, having been shot by his own allies in the confusion. His injuries looked severe. He probably wasn’t going to survive.

Then it occurred to TA-N90 about the severity of  _all_ their situation: Gerbera was gone. They had used Deathscythe’s magic to enter Neotopia’s dimension, but now there was no way  _back_. Not without a transdimensional communication rig to contact Deathscythe for extraction, and certainly  _not_ without their commanding officer on the other side to acknowledge them. Using a proxy or not, Gerbera was going to be out of commission back home. His connection to the proxy had been deep to make it more effective.

TA-N90 had gone so far to find the truth he was never going home. Not this time. 

_Not ever again._

There was the sound of  _new_  engines approaching. Not additional surviving Doga Bomber forces. Not even a secret collection of hidden reinforcements. TA-N90 looked in the direction of the sound and stared in quiet horror: it was gunperries. Super Dimensional Guard airships were approaching at one hundred and eighty knots and closing in. The other Doga Bombers caught sight and slowed their frantic circling, hovering in place as a collective of midair statues. No one moved. Not without direction from Gerbera through Zako Red. 

TA-N90 felt time slow when the first Doga Bomber fell.

The femme briefly disengaged her engines, allowing herself to pivot and fall backwards through the air. As her orientation changed, she completely offlined her antigravs and allowed herself to freefall. Seconds later, with gravity no longer sufficiently aiding her, she reengaged her engines. Throwing full throttle into her turbines, she accelerated quickly towards the ground like a missile. Moments later, another Doga Bomber followed her example. He threw his arms out backwards as he fell, offlining his optic. He looked peaceful. Another followed. Then another.

TA-N90 experienced the sensation of something in his processor turning  _on_. He deactivated his own engine at the whim of a silent command. He started to fall. Without Gerbera, a deeply-coded security-protocol was kicking in. He  _had_ to die. He could not allow himself to fall into the enemy’s clutches. He was  _ok_ —

HE WAS  _NOT_ OKAY WITH THIS. FEAR. DO NOT DIE.  _LIVE._

He flashed his optic back online.

HE WANTED TO LIVE!

TA-N90 switched his turbines back online, zooming back up into the air. He flew high. He flew  _high_ and kept going  _higher:_ he had to get away from the ground! That coded piece in his processor  _screamed_ at him to finish, but something else snuffed it out. It was that familiar error in his code that he always felt, but instead of filling him with dread,  _this time_ it was violently quashing his urge to  _obey obey obey_. Did... did he have  _admin_ privileges? Impossible, only  _Commanders_ had such programming! As his processor easily snuffed Gerbera’s control-codes, his A.I. was scrambling to override the failsafe suicide-data and replace it with something else.  _Anything_ else. He shot higher to distract himself, looking down only out of morbid curiosity.

As more and more of his comrades started to fall out of the sky on their own accord, he saw the first explosions on the ground. The femme from before was the first to strike, careening into the side of a building below. She went up in flames. Another mech landed on the sidewalk, sending pedestrians alike scrambling for cover. Another femme rocketed straight for and landed dead center on the top of a small sedan parked on the street, just as a human barely got inside. The rising screams and detonations echoed in his audio receptors even at such a high altitude. He had to go higher to escape. He had to get away from—!

There was the scream of a ship’s engine directly behind him. He turned just in time to see a gunperry’s front nosecone moments before it slammed into him. He could hear the pilots inside shouting fearfully as he blasted straight into their path.

He didn’t remember the first impact, nor did he remember the second. All he remembered was the feeling of weightlessness and falling. The first impact had knocked him completely unconscious. When he came to, he was lying on a cold floor with flesh and metal bodies alike pinning him down. He was inside another gunperry, and above him was the hole in the roof where he had crashed straight through. Had they maneuvered another gunperry underneath him to stop his fall? He rolled his head to the side, and through the side of the gunperry’s open containment he watched the still exploding city pass by below.

The other Doga Bombers were gone. He was alive.

He fell into a furious stasis lock. The Fear was gone. He had nothing left to give: not to Gerbera, not to Nightingale, not to his dying allies, and not even to himself.

**xiii**

“Tango? Hey... are you awake?”

“R-Renee...? What...?”

“Shhh. Hey. Listen. Don’t try to move, okay? We have doctors looking at you. You’re going to be fine. Thatcher’s gone. Just relax.”

“I’m afraid.”

“That’s okay. Everyone should be allowed to be afraid sometimes. Even alien robots from alternate dimensions. Take it nice and easy. They’re keeping you sedated until they can manually defragment your processor and run some emergency fixes. Your brain basically fried in there. They’re also going to install the... security bolt.”

“Will it hurt?”

“No. You won’t feel a thing, Tango. It’s just a safety measure, anyways. I have a feeling they won’t make you wear it for long.”

He paused. “I’m still afraid.”

“Do you trust me?”

Another pause. “Yes. I want to.”

“I’ll try to help you not be afraid, okay? We’ll work on it together.”

“Why are you helping me?”

Now it was her turn to pause. “Because everyone deserves a friend, Tango. Commander Sazabi saved someone’s baby when he was running away from Gerbera.  _He_  made friends. You should too.”

Tango rumbled his engine, squeezing her servo. He was too tired to form a full grip, preventing her hand from being crushed. He said nothing. He couldn’t think of anything  _to_  say. He was done being stuck on the soldier side. The Fear was gone completely. 


	6. Chief Haro

**It’s empty in the valley of your heart.**

**The sun, it rises slowly as you walk**

**away from all the fears and all the faults you’ve left behind.**

**But I have seen the same, I know the shame in your defeat.**

**But I will hold on hope, and I won’t let you choke**

**on the noose around your neck.**

_The Cave_  – Mumford and Sons

**i**

Markus Nigel Ray, thirty-five years old and married with two children, led an extremely average life.

He was born on September first, N.C. 0252, to George and Pamela Ray at Colony Central Hospital. Despite complications with being premature, he was fortunate enough to be otherwise healthy. He was even able to leave and go home with his parents a few hours later. Unfortunately, his mother was no longer able toconceivechildren. From that point onward, he was an only child. He lived with his parents in their adapted-ranch style home out in the countryside, attending private-academies in Neotopia’s high class districts: from preschool all the way through his senior year of high school. He took part in exclusive sporting lessons, tutoring sessions, and was generally smothered by his mother through every nook and cranny of his childhood. His father had been a baseball star in his youth, and the doting couple hoped their son would carry the torch and go on to participate in the major leagues. Unfortunately, Markus’ attention span for chasing balls around a diamond was entirely nonexistent. When he graduated high school, he went on to major in music theory and composition at Krung Thep University.

He met his wife, Keiko Temu Abe, during his freshman year when she was touring campuses for her own college venture. He proposed to her a week before his graduation. They were married a month after hers.

Markus secured his first job as a jingle writer for an advertising firm in the city. Their first child was born through artificial insemination, tank-grown, at the Laplace Von Braun Research Institute. They were able to bring Shute Amuro Ray home on May eighth, N.C. 0275, as young parents who successfully managed to start their own family. Home for them was a six thousand square-foot hose in the quiet hillsides looking out at the city, with a huge yard and quiet border against the woods. Keiko secured her first full time job at Sweetwater Elementary School just outside the city limits. Mark, meanwhile, moved on to work on soundtracks for several positively-reviewed children’s cartoons. On August twenty-first, N.C. 0285, they had their first naturally conceived and carried child: Nanako Casval Ray.

The year current was N.C. 0286. September had arrived, and daily, the threat of a cool winter was constant. As Mark got up for work, he could see that the glass on the inside of the house had fogged up. It was a sure sign that the temperature had dropped during the night, but the heat from the morning sun offered that the day would still be warm. Winters in Neotopia were mild, anyways. 

As he stood up with care to avoid waking his wife next to him, he had the sudden sinking suspicion that he should call out. Maybe the sensation came with the territory that things had been less than  _normal_  than usual. Shute was off the radar in an alternate universe with the rest of the Gundam Force. The Super Dimensional Guard had lost all trace of him and his friends, as they were “no longer in the Minov.” Keiko had work, Nana,  _and_  their “guest” to worry about on a regular basis, nevermind a missing child. He could have called out for the express purpose of helping his wife around the house. He could offer to watch Nana for a few hours, do some housework, let her have a moment’s peace just for  _one_ Saturday while she did something else other than grade papers...

He should have stayed. But he didn’t. He had his own work to do, and none of it was going to be easy. 

(It was going to be  _extremely_  difficult that night too, even if he didn’t know it yet.)

He showered, brushed his teeth, and did some well-needed maintenance on his facial hair before grabbing a breakfast bar downstairs and writing a letter to his wife:  _Oops! Just realized I forgot to pick up the groceries you wanted last night. Call me if you want me to get them after work. I’ll leave the studio early so we can go out, too! Dinner and a movie? Gator Mom can watch Nana for a few hours again, right? I love you!_ He grabbed a light windbreaker and headed outside, fiddling with the car keys to his seafoam Sunrise Minovsky.

The most recent edition to their family was standing outside facing the sun. Seeing him  _right there_ actually startled Mark for a second, but the feeling passed. Commander Sazabi was due to get his flight armaments back that afternoon, on the part of practicing good behavior. He had taken to getting up early most days to sun himself outside when the sky wasn’t too overcast. As far as Mark could tell, it looked like he had fallen asleep standing up again. Nowadays he seemed to prefer laying down... but old habits would always die hard, right?

“Sweet dreams, Bucket Head,” Mark chuckled in a good-natured manner, going back to his car. The sun rose slowly as he walked to his car, climbed in, and started the engine. As he turned out of his own driveway onto the main road, he caught a glimpse of Sazabi in the rearview swiveling his head towards, flashing his optic. Mark felt a little bad about waking him up, but Sazabi had mastered the art of power-napping that he was sure he would fall asleep again in no time at all. Mark drove for ten minutes before taking a back road that did  _not_ lead to the city where his second studio was, turning onto a forest path that led to a quiet private garage. He got out, fetched several unique clothes items from a hidden cache inside a hidden storage unit, and walked to a private tarmac ten minutes down a secure road where a gunperry would pick him up for his -  _real_ \- job.

Markus Nigel Ray, thirty-five years old and married with two children, led an extremely average life. 

Except for whenever Chief Haro donned his helmet. 

From that point on, Mark just stopped existing.

**ii**

“Chief?”

The supreme leader of the Super Dimensional Guard jerked his head up, sending a pen container and potted plant tumbling to the floor. The pot didn’t smash, but dirt and pens scattered across the carpet next to his desk haphazardly. He reached out for his phone’s intercom and hit the receive button. Had he fallen asleep at his desk? ”Juli?”

“You asked me to call you if anything interesting happened with the press.” Julia Petrov, thirty-one years old and his right-hand woman, sounded exhausted. He wondered if he sounded as bad as her. Given the state of affairs in the SDG the past few days, he was sure it did.  They were  _all_ tired. ”Turn on the channel for Colony Network.”

“Damn it.” Chief Haro glanced around his table, finding the controls for the television screen across his lavish office. He hit the on switch and keyed in the channel he wanted.

 _“—from last Friday’s attack has officially risen to fifty-eight, making this the deadliest event in Neotopia’s history since the original Dark Axis invasion.”_ The voiceover was being done by a young-sounding anchorwoman. The screen showed an amateur video recording of one of Neotopia’s surface streets. Seconds later, a Doga Bomber collided with the pavement less than ten feet away. Fire and chunks of thrown asphalt spewed up from the resulting explosion. The sound of the blast and screaming caused the audio feed to crackle and momentarily cut out. At the bottom of the screen flashed a continuous stream of schools that were still closed, emergency numbers, and other related headlines. Haro caught a glimpse of a funeral service number.

The main headline left a sour taste in his throat:  _Gundam Force fails to stop Dark Axis Terror!_  Shit. That was going to end badly.

The anchorwoman started speaking again. The amateur video switched to another scene showing a view of the sky. Doga Bombers were evading gunperries as the ships attempted, unsuccessfully, to stop them from divebombing the city.  _”The death toll_ is _expected to rise, as over forty people remain in critical condition. The most recent victim, Bethany Collins, died during surgery at the Marida Medical Center. She was burned over seventy percent of her body from one of the explosions on Bright Way. We would like to take a moment to remind our viewers that law enforcement is still looking to identify over a dozen bodies. If you have a loved one who has been missing since last Friday, please call your local district’s hotline and they will help you as best they can.”_

“Are you seeing this?” Juli was no longer speaking over the intercom. His head communications officer entered the office, holding a datapad in one hand and shifting her headset off with the other. Her hair was tussled and greasy. “They’re not even covering the fact we have three-fourths of all our staff on the ground dealing with rebuilding and providing medical assistance. It’s all the same  _shit_  as when the Doga Bombers hit the fan.”

“Their ratings must be through the roof,” Chief Haro said. He felt hollow as the words left his throat, and they sounded even emptier. “Neotopia News hasn’t shown footage like this.”

“Yeah. They’re showing progress since all this went down. Mayor Margaret Gathermoon had a press conference with Neotopia News talking about how great the Gundam Force was for trying to block the Doga Bombers with their –  _our_  – own ships. That’s not even talking about how our guys were digging out that collapsed subway tunnel to save all those people, or the on-site medical attention we provided to victims. Colony Network hasn’t even  _touched_  the Gathermoon interview. They won’t even show clips of the gunperries parked in the streets helping—”

“Neotopia News and Colony Network cater to two very different audiences, Juli. You know that.” Chief Haro leaned back in his seat, muting the television. He reached up to run a hand through his hair, only to have his gloved fingers pass uselessly over his round helmet. He barely caught himself from knocking his hat off. “It’s not personal. It’s just business.”

“If you can call fear mongering a legitimate business practice. I thought we were done with this capitalism bullshit decades ago.” Juli handed him the datapad she had. “This is going to get mighty personal  _very_  quick. I have thirty call-center staff on the verge of a collective mental breakdown. That’s sixteen hundred phone calls.”

“In an hour?”

“In ten  _minutes.”_

Haro had to put the pad down. The list of numbers was painful to look at. “Jesus Christ.”

“This is a two-hundred percent spike in just the past hour. Colony Network apparently had an interview with one of those human  _welfare_  groups.” Juli made an ugly face, halfway between a scowl and looking like she wanted to cry. “It first aired fifteen minutes ago and they  _just_  ran another segment of it. Some lady announced our extension and now I’m up to my ears in shout-happy civilians. If we don’t answer fast enough, they just hang up and call again. If the volume of calls increases any more, I’m going to have to redirect guys from the radio department just to filter the legitimate calls from the howlers. Ever since Gathermoon forced us to go public, our lines have been choked. Now it’s just  _exploding_. It’s suffocating my crew and I’m going to have more walkouts. Four of them already broke down crying. I don’t know what to do—”

“When was the last time you slept.” Haro wasn’t asking a question. He knew the answer.

Juli’s shoulders sagged. She stared straight through him. He could see the bags under her eyes. “Sir.”

“When.”

“Nine o’ clock,” she announced. “The day before yesterday.”

“At night?” 

“In the morning.”

“Go to the barracks, shower, and get some sleep.” Chief Haro picked up her datapad and handed it back to her. “Hell, go  _home_  if you have to. I mean it. You’ve been working nonstop for days.” 

Juli sagged. “But the call center...?”

“I’ll have Ashley take over your department in the meantime, and tell your crew not to worry about the calls. If repeat numbers keep coming through after they put them on hold, block the extension and lock the caller out of the system. Redirect them to the Captain System satellites and have the signals shot into  _space_  for all I care.”

“We  _have_ to keep the lines open.” Juli’s voice was broken. The longer she stood there, the more Haro noticed how  _defeated_  she was. She was pale. Her skin was clammy. Juli looked more like a dead person walking than the confident, powerful woman Haro knew she was. “The district representatives said we had to allow civilians to voice—”

“I don’t care anymore.” Haro stood up. He walked around his desk, crossed the space between them, and plucked Juli’s headset off from around her shoulders. He gestured to the door. “If civilians voicing their concerns is more of an issue to the city than making sure we have enough staff on hand to monitor potential enemy radio channels and take calls for  _real_  emergencies, they can deal with me in court  _personally_. Tell your crew what I said to do. Clean up, get some rest, and— go home. Don’t even stay. Get to your wife and stay away from here.”

“ _Sir_.” Juli sounded like she wanted to object, but any fight that had been left in her was crushed. Haro had never seen her look so  _decimated_ – not since the original Dark Axis invasion, and that was something even he didn’t want to remember right now. Especially when he could see Colony Network playing rehashed footage from said invasion in the background. No doubt they were trying to renew the public’s anger over the Dark Axis’ presence in Neotopia.

“You’re dismissed, Juli.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Go. Call me on my personal line when you feel better, alright?”

Juli said nothing. Then she finally left. Even her  _posture_ was wrong: her stride was too stiff, as though she were trying to keep herself walking straight. Any longer on the job, she might as well have collapsed. Haro at least had a bed to sleep in the night before, even if it wasn’t his own. He was going to have to convince his mother to let him pick up a new mattress. If not for the sake of his own sleep, then for his wife. She needed it more than him. Especially after what she went through.

As he returned to his desk, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. The television screen flashed with a wall of fire. He immediately turned the volume back up as he sat down.

His house was burning on-screen. This footage was hardly amateur, no doubt shot by one of Colony Network’s news crews.  _”—household where Commander Sazabi remained under house arrest was empty when fire fighters put out the flames. There is still no word on the family’s status, including the whereabouts of a one-year-old_ infant _. Commander Sazabi remains missing as well. We reached out to the Gundam Force several times about his whereabouts. We also attempted to ask about an incident where Commander Sazabi was seen harassing employees at a public convenience store hours earlier. There was also the question on everyone’s mind: what_ was _that comet streak in the sky? We have yet to receive a comment. Colony News Reporting will stay on the air will the latest.”_

Haro turned off the television. He texted his wife from his personal cell phone to tell her how much he loved her, then pinged his staff in PR to start monitoring –  _really_  monitoring – damage control. It was going to be a long day.

**iii**

Growing up, when his mother told him to jump, he did just that. He obeyed his father when it came to playing sports and going to church every Sunday. In high school, he took the classes his parents  _wanted_  him to take. Naturally, he disobeyed in college and did his own thing. Hell, on days when his mother would call and ask how classes were going that day, he would just  _skip_ them. He didn’t hate his mother - not at all - but it was a loving kind of spite if anyone ever asked him to describe it. Sorry Mom, can’t help you, I’m too busy doing the exact opposite of what you said to prove the world isn’t going to burn down... but how was  _your_ day? 

When Pamela Ray tried to get him a part time job close to home (so she could try to reason with him about his “poor” life choices at close range), he jumped at the chance to rebel even further. Music major or not, joining a secret government organization seemed like good fit to the bill.

Of course, joining up with the Super Dimensional Guard wasn’t a cakewalk. When he first sent in his application, he thought he was applying for a desk job in the capitol offices of Neotopia. Young, open-minded individuals who were interviewed and fit prerequisites for SDG material were then asked to join the secret organization. Those who swore to secrecy were immediately hired. Those who refused were delivered class one amnesiacs and dismissed. Secrecy was extremely important to the SDG, given the nature of its origins. In orientation, Mark learned that the planet Neotopia was stationed on was once the site of a massive black hole that passed through its space. The galaxy survived the ordeal, but the balance of space-time was permanently skewed within. The Founders couldn’t have  _known_ about their new world’s unstable surroundings when they left Earth, so the SDG became established when they realized that small wormholes and distorted space kept popping up during the initial colony’s construction.

Mark worked on weekends and during the summer under the guise of doing extra curricular assignments. The SDG covered all the false paperwork to keep his parents in the dark. He worked for many months in communications, where his job was to monitor message broadcasts for key phrases. Strange lights in the sky. Strange visual distortions. Nothing ever came up, and for a while Mark was pleased to be getting paid just to sit around and do nothing. He was going into his senior year when the “wanted” ads for genetic test volunteers started showing up in his work memos.

“Nothing extensive,” the one of the SDG bioengineers said to him in the employee lounge when he asked about it. “Just some bloodwork.”

Mark knew his mother would have severely disapproved, so of course he volunteered. He went into the on-site doctor’s office, had some blood drawn by a geeky scientist... and that was it. He was almost disappointed there wasn’t anything more extensive. A week later, he got a call on his work line.

“Markus Ray?”

“Uhh, yeah man? That’s me. Somethin’ I can help you with?”

The caller introduced themselves: a name Mark couldn’t remember. “I’m calling in regards to your bloodwork. We would like to make you an offer.”

Something had shown up in his test that made him an ‘excellent candidate.’ For what, they wouldn’t say directly over the phone. Mark still had nothing better to do with his free time, so he agreed to meet with supervisors higher up in the ranks of the SDG – even though the laboratory itself was in the bowels of Blanc Base proper. He got to go on a brief tour showing off some the of the research centers for planetary biology and mech-science before bringing him into a room with a massive cylindrical machine. When he asked what it was for, his guide explained it was for enhancing human genetics. It looked like a person could fit inside. On the ramps and walkways surrounding the monolith, there were dozens of scientists.

The man standing in front of the machine didn’t initially appear to be a man at all. He was dressed a blue military jacket and suit pants, but that wasn’t what caught Mark off guard. The man had a  _round bright green head_ with a simplistic face. “My name is Chief Haro, Markus. I am the leader of the SDG. I would like to make you an offer.”

**iv**

By midmorning, Blanc Base was more or less in a state of pandemonium. On one hand, enemy ships weren’t blasting their way through a Zakorello Gate or raining suiciding Axians on the city. On the other hand, they had another breed of monster to deal with: a mole.

The next person who came into his office was Alison Miller, Juli’s right-hand. Alice didn’t even bother paging, a sure sign of a developing emergency situation. “We have a class four confidentiality breach.”

“What channel?” Chief Haro immediately dropped the paperwork he was reviewing.

Of course it was Colony Network. The woman being interviewed under a  _Breaking News_  banner was standing at a podium hastily rigged outside Neotopia Tower’s government offices entrance. The name below the woman read Monique Thatcher. Her organization affiliation was listed as being with the PPSN: the Personhood Preservation Society of Neotopia.  _”—again, we have just been notified by our informant, Michael’s Justice, that Commander Sazabi has survived and is being treated for severe damage. We at the PPSN are_ appalled  _that such an extensive rescue operation was put in place for an enemy of Neotopia while the rest of the public suffered. Even now, the Super Dimensional Guard is harboring one of the surviving Dogas that bombarded our city and stole away so many precious lives that fateful day. To think that the SDG can give fancy operation names like_ Fallen Eagle _and_ Fender Bender—”

Alice’s face was white. “They know everything. The timeline for the Commander’s Black Directive, how badly he was damaged, the fact we captured that other Axian...”

That  _other_  Axian was one of the Doga Bombers retrieved when Sazabi’s pursuers started to divebomb the city. Whereas Black Directives were severe in nature and usually of a more serious quality, other missions prescribed by the SDG were not all in that league. White Directives were usually of a peaceful nature. Blue Directives were exploratory. Green Directives were unique in the sense that they were also rescue missions but purely of an impromptu nature, usually named several the hours after the fact. Guneagle’s retrieval of Fenn from the barrel of the Komusai II was later dubbed Mission  _Frightened Feathers_. Retrieving Gunbike from a tree after he  _drove off the side of_  Blanc Base (forgetting that he was a  _bike_ and could not mobilize without aid from a gunperry to bring him to the ground), was eventually named Mission  _Sky Biking_.

Having a Doga Bomber fly into the path of an oncoming gunperry and then  _slam_ straight through the roof of another was certainly good criteria for another Green Directive. It was dubbed Mission  _Fender Bender_  less than ten hours after the rogue Doga Bomber was brought into the base, unconscious but alive. They had him in private containment for several hours before moving him to an interrogation chamber less than two hours earlier.

“Who the hell is Michael’s Justice?” Alice was looking at Haro with a panicked expression. As someone who regularly worked with Juli in communications, she knew the severity of the leaks.

“A biblical reference.” Haro knew that wasn’t what she was getting at – but in all honestly, Haro didn’t know where to start. Finding a mole in their midst was impossible with how thinly spread they were. Everyone in the SDG was screened prior to hiring and signed waivers swearing their secrecy to the organization, but for a leak to spill now had everything to do with the events of the suiciding Doga Bombers. People were hurt – killed – and family and friends were out for revenge. There was also no shortage of those in the SDG who believed Sazabi should have been destroyed. Was this an employee finally acting out in the wake of the Dark Axis’ most recent attack? “The Personhood Preservation Society of Neotopia was founded under several churches that banned together after the first invasion. Michael is the one who cast Lucifer out of Heaven by God’s command. His justice saw the devil cast out.”

Alice made a face. “I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” He waved her off. “Start an investigation immediately, but it will be like searching for a needle in a haystack. So many people had contact with the Commander since the end of the Black Directive, pinning down a guilty party will be difficult. Have anyone left in the communications department start filtering through known PPSN members and any relationship with our staff. That might be your first clue.”

“We may never figure it out,” Alice said, finally understanding the quiet undertone of Chief Haro’s voice. “There’s so much going on. By the time this all blows over, our mole might either just leave the SDG or go about their business like nothing ever happened.”

 _“As of right now, the PPSN has gathered over five thousand signatures for the immediate intervention in SDG affairs by the PPSN.”_  Thatcher was continuing on camera, poised delicately behind the podium. She reminded him of his mother: dressed nicely but with eyes that were as sharp as a bird of prey.  _”Should our requests to meet with Chief Haro himself go unanswered, we will petition the mayor herself to shut down all Super Dimensional Guard operations until a proper investigation into their affairs can be organized and carried out. Our beautiful city will have justice, for the lives lost in the initial invasion and the lives still in the balance—”_

Chief Haro turned off the television. “Alice?”

“Yes?”

“Get Mayor Margaret on the phone. While you’re at it, get me the private line for Monique Thatcher.”

**v**

Mark had had plenty of personal disasters in his life. All of them varied in severity, from petty to catastrophic. And yes, getting a hot sauce stain on his wedding tuxedo  _absolutely_  qualified as catastrophic. Realizing your wife was also one hundred percent serious about hosting  _Commander Sazabi of the Dark Axis Murder Party Extravaganza_ was more of the petty tier too, come to think of it. Keiko was known for making seemingly bad decisions that turned out fine in the end. She got married to  _him_ , after all.

The Saturday after the invasion was sort of at a permeant crossroad. On one hand, it was hilarious in hindsight. On another hand, his wife  _did_  drop a bombshell on him. Shute had just left and gotten trapped in the Minov. The city was still rebuilding and demanding an actual execution for the now-imprisoned Commander Sazabi of the Dark Axis Invasion Fleet. He was working underneath Keiko’s car, the red Bandai Gandamu he got her for their anniversary the year before, when he saw her feet walk around the passenger side. He was holding a wrench and tightening a socket on the power steering console. Thank god he was actually using the jack this time: he didn't need to uselessly scare her if she saw him holdingacar up with his bare—

“I think we should take in Commander Sazabi.”

The wrench was one of the heavy-duty titanium ones with the lifetime warranties. Mark crushed it in hisfist. The metal bent inward with the curve of his grip, its consistency like butter. Taking up the original Chief Haro’s offer for genetic therapy had its benefits, but maintaining any sort of cover without breaking every goddamn thing he touched was a total nightmare. He quickly rolled out from under the car on Shute’s old skateboard. “Honey?”

She made a face. “What happened to your wrench?”

“New model,” he said, quickly disposing it under the car where she couldn’t see. “They make them bent now. Kinda stupid, actually.”

“Oh. Well...” Keiko put her hands on her hips. He liked to call it her ‘mom’ pose: something she took up when she was about to launch into an explanation about how they should raise their kids. Except there was an edge to her gaze that immediately had Mark on edge. “I just got a call from Juli at Blanc Base.”

It couldn’t have been an update about Shute. Mark got all  _those_  ahead of time, and his own phone hadn’t gone off in hours. “What did they want? Anything more from—?”

“No, Shute is still in the Minov...” Keiko never took her hands off her hips. Her expression seemed to harden. “It was about Commander Sazabi. Apparently, that Robo House place isn’t working for him.”

Robo House, in its earliest conception, was organized to be  _Plan A_  in response to successfully dismantling a Dark Axis invasion. It was planned shortly after Zero’s initial arrival to Neotopia, then fully staffed several months before the final invasion that rocked Neotopia to its core. It was jump-started as a mech psychology center and hospital, and there were civilian clientele already signed up for soft-reset programming-therapy...

 Chief Kao Lyn had been asked to run it. He refused.

“Soft resetting is one thing, my boy,” he said to Chief Haro on the issue. The usually energetic old man was somber. “But you and I both know that’s  _not_  what Robo House was made for. Hard resets are against everything I stood for in my youth. I won’t have my name attached to this. They’re only proven to be effective in theory, but it’s happened time and time again.”

“What has?”

“Underestimating the ghost in the machine,” Kao Lyn said.

Of course, Kao Lyn was right. At the end of the Dark Axis invasion, Robo House attempted hard resets on three high-priority subjects: Patient Alpha, Patient Beta, and Patient Delta. Alpha was the codename for Sazabi. Beta was was Zapper Zaku. Delta was... the other one. Zapper and the third mech seemed to have successful results, but only after direct intervention through panoramic theater and audio-therapy. None of the other “proven” methods seemed to work. Sazabi was resisting altogether. Three weeks in, and he wouldn’t break.

“They’re considering Sazabi a lost cause. They don’t want to imprison him entirely, but they  _do_ want to put him under house arrest with some kind of security bolt to keep from hurting anyone.” Keiko paused, as if to let the information sink in. Mark already knew, though. He knew exactly where this was going: he was the one who authorized it. “I think we should take him.”

Whoever the hell put Keiko on the calling list looking for  _volunteers_  in this area didn’t matter. When Keiko suggested something, it was because she had already set her mind to doing it. He had no idea how to refute. “Isn’t he, like, the same robot that was shooting at you and Nana? Didn’t he go after Shute?”

“Yes and yes. I think he could stand to learn some lessons in decency. Shute is off doing his part to save Neotopia, and I wouldn’t be a mother to my son working so hard if I didn’t play my part.”

Mark knew there was more to this. He could see it in the hardness of her eyes: Keiko was a strong and kind woman, but she was also firm. Not vindictive in the sense of  _vengeful_ , but she could be hard when it was demanded of her as a mother. She wanted to punish Sazabi.

Thankfully, part of the reason they got married was because they were so alike. Chief Haro couldn’t punish Sazabi the way he wanted, but  _Mark_  could.

He agreed to taking in the Commander. At dinner, they talked about it briefly again and finalized the first agreement with a second. They cleared out the guest room (except for the lamp and bed, even after Mark insisted that Sazabi would never use either). The next morning, Keiko called the SDG’s main hotline and got in touch with Chief Haro  _himself_  about the arrangement. They would attempt one more reprogramming session, then hand the Commander over to the Ray household.

Mark wondered if the decision to have Sazabi in their house was a good one. He had plenty of disasters in his life, but nearly losing his wife and daughter?

He didn’t think he would ever find strength in that pain.

**vi**

Getting a hold of the Personhood Preservation Society of Neotopia to curb the looming public relations disaster was no issue. Getting a hold of Monique Thatcher’s personal information was just as easy. She was born in January of N.C. 0233, never went to college but married in N.C. 0253, and served as a peace enforcement officer before the final push to replace the platoon with GMs in N.C. 0262. She became widowed shortly after the natural-birth of her second child in N.C. 0265. She had a son and daughter. She took over her husband’s parish and was one of the many churches that congregated to form the PPSN after the first invasion. They championed themselves as conservers of humanity, whatever that meant.

Her frail looking portrait in the city database betrayed her true age. She was only fifty-four and looked closer to sixty.

In person, he photo did the widow no justice.

From the second Monique Thatcher stepped into his office, he read her with an acute familiarness that was instantly unnerving. She wore a dark blue pantsuit with the aged decorations of a retired human officer that demanded immediate respect. Her heels were the same exact gold-grey ones sitting in his mother’s closet. Her hair was done up expertly in a rigid bun. Makeup splashed across her face like warpaint, the waterproof merlot smile she offered as she entered his office was predatory.

“Chief Haro,” Thatcher offered as she entered his space. She did not sit down at one of the chairs opposite his desk, instead opting to keep her distance. She had her satin gloved hands folded behind her back: she was poised more like a senior law-officer than a church-woman. Any sense of him being impressed, however, was marred the second she started talking. “I would ask what your real name is, but then we would have to hold you accountable for your mishaps, wouldn’t we?”

“ _Chief Haro_  exists for a reason,” he said, sitting up straight at his desk. He moved one hand under the table, gripping the side of one of the built-in shelves. He used to have a stress ball, but after having the last ten explode on him... ”As history has taught us, humans living with peaceful intentions can still be threatened by outside forces beyond our control. The Super Dimensional Guard was established to ensure that any potential threats could be deflected.  _Chief Haro_  has been a staple identity that holds the entire organization together under a common icon of leadership. He has led the SDG for over a hundred years, but his civilian identity has changed many times.”

“Yet it is  _this_  version of Chief Haro who has made so many mistakes.” Thatcher’s eyes narrowed. “This version is the one who let an entire alien invasion force trespass onto Neotopia not once, but  _twice_.”

“We only came to know about the existence of the Dark Axis shy of three years ago,” Chief Haro answered. He gripped the edge of his bookshelf tighter. His blood pressure was rising just  _looking_ at her. “We were grossly unprepared for the scale of  _any_  first-time invasion. We are a sovereign nation of an acutely endangered species, floating alone lightyears away from our native home world, who forsake weapons for a peaceful existence. As defenders, we did the best we could.”

“You could have done better.” Thatcher edged closer now, her cutting glare flat out accusatory. “You could have eliminated their Commander when you had the chance. Instead, you showed mercy to a  _monster_  who was undeserving of it. Now look what’s happened. They’re saying that there will be more deaths than the original one hundred turned to stone. Is your incarnation Chief Haro prepared to  _live_  with that responsibility?”

“Neotopia was founded on peaceful principals.” Chief Haro had to control the sound of his voice. “Slaughtering Commander Sazabi would have contradicted everything that our founders stood for. The SDG and its affiliates are protectors,  _not_  executioners.”

“And just who  _are_  your affiliates?” Thatcher was pacing the length of the room now. Her heels clicked on the tile as she carried herself tall. “Don’t think the PPSN is ignorant to your operations. Ever since you were forced to come public with your operations, we have done our research. You harbored interdimensional refugees without so much as a scrap of proper paperwork. You let one of them romp around our world for  _two whole years_ unattended. One of them was  _so_  violently inclined, he destroyed entire sections of Peace Park and our underground railway system.”

“Zero and Bakunetsumaru were valuable allies and responsible for preventing even more casualties from taking place during the Dark Axis invasion.” Chief Haro was gripping the desk tighter. “They are our friends as  _well_  as comrades. Zero prevented a mass bagu bagu outbreak. Bakunetsumaru is to thank for the prevention of a major bomb threat.”

“Comradery has nothing to do with common sense,” Thatcher snapped. “Your entire organization is  _littered_ with criminal filth. Omar Aslam Bellwood, previously detained on illegal software modification charges for a civilian of his level, had his record  _nearly_  scrubbed from police-records and was hired onto your organization with dubious intent. Kao Shi Lyn, infamous for his  _less_  than mature political  _stunts_ during his youth, who vandalized an entire population of robots—”

Chief Haro chuckled. “I don’t think giving trains  _hands_  counts as real vandalism.”

“It wasn’t  _just_  the hands.” Thatcher was sneering: she hardly found the situation funny. “Then there’s the child, Shute Amuro Ray.”

He gripped the metal edge of his bookshelf so hard, it started to dent under his fingers.

Thatcher smiled, but it wasn’t a fond expression. It was voracious. “He just turned eleven, didn’t he? He can’t get into a teen rated film by himself, never mind act on the behalf of  _thousands_ of Neotopians. Yet there he was on the Horn of War, shouting down an alien  _beast_  that murdered one hundred citizens that day. Where were his parents? Where was their  _responsibility?_ Were they never held accountable for blatant child endangerment? Were  _you_  ever held accountable?”

“The boy was determined to be an invaluable asset due to his connection with Captain Gundam,” Chief Haro said. “If he hadn’t retrieved the stolen souldrive from the Commander that day, none of us would be here now.”

“So the ends justify the means?” Thatcher made an ugly face. It was the same expression his mother gave him when he told her that her first grandchild was going to be artificially grown in a test tube and not given a natural birth. “That  _little_ boy should be playing with children his own age on the school playground,  _not_ running around with alien robots in some backwards alternate dimension. He should be dodging water balloons, not  _bullets_. His parents should be incarcerated for child endangerment, encouraging this nonsense! Especially his heretic of a mother, that  _Keiko_...”

Chief Haro gripped his desk with enough force to shatter bone. The metal caved inward further, this time with a groan.

Monique Thatcher either didn’t notice or simply didn’t care. She was on a tirade now. “That woman should have  _both_  her children taken away. If it’s not for letting her son become a child soldier in interdimensional warfare or bringing that infant onto the front lines, it’s for harboring that  _devil_  in her own home. And alongside a  _newborn!_ Security bolt or not, it was only a matter of time before that thing crushed that poor baby underfoot or got around his already faulty security lock. And yes, our little agent on the inside found out full and  _well_ that Sazabi’s bolt had malfunctioned during the second invasion. It likely that it even malfunctioned  _multiple_ times without anyone knowing. It was a grave mistake to let that awful creature live without proper punishment, and it was just as grave a mistake to leave him in the hands of a woman who can’t even safeguard her own children. The SDG can shield her all it wants, but her career could be  _destroyed_  with just a few press conferences.”

Chief Haro gripped his desk so hard, the metal  _shrieked_.

Thatcher was none the wiser. She was on a rant and deaf to anything shy of her own voice. ”After all, we already know that students were already withdrawn from her classes  _without_  media coverage. Imagine what more cameras would do—”

Chief Haro stood up, slapping his hands down onto his desk. Again, the metal buckled. Disguised, his strength wasn’t necessarily something he had to hide. On the other hand, he didn’t want to portray he was threatening her, either. They were all in enough trouble as it was. The PPSN had sensationalized the public, but to drag Keiko into the mix? Thatcher was in blue, but all Chief Haro could see was red. ”What do you  _want?”_

“Our informant relayed to us that you  _did_  capture a live Doga during the second invasion. One that didn’t try to kill himself like all the rest.” Thatcher finally crossed the space between them, standing at the edge of his desk and placing her hands flat on its surface. If Haro wanted to, he could have raised his fists and slammed down enough with enough force to break all her fingers. A little extra effort into a  _hard_ slam, and there wouldn’t be any bones left to heal. Thatcher smelled like at least one of the same kinds of perfume that his mother wore. “I presume you have already come up with a fancy codename for it? Omicron? Zeta?”

“None at the moment,” Chief Haro ground out. He let his gaze meet the woman’s and hoped, viciously, that looking into the inanimate face of his helmet would unnerve her. It seemed to do no such thing. In fact, she was  _grinning_  now. The stretched merlot exposed set of expertly cleaned top teeth. ”The codenames were given to high-priority patients in Robo House. Our prisoner will not be going there due to the previous... failed cases.”

“All three Axians could not be reprogrammed.” Thatcher’s voice was a venomous. The sick smile never left her face, and her lipstick never cracked. It must have been an extremely expensive brand. Pamela probably owned it. ”Sazabi refused to submit to Robo House, and the other two  _faked_  their reprogramming. Another half-crocked failure on part of the SDG, no doubt.”

“Robo House’s failures will be dealt with in time.” Haro glared. “We’ve been busy.”

“The Personhood Preservation Society will be sure to keep you even  _busier_ unless our demands are met. Perhaps we’ll gain the momentum needed to shut you down entirely.”

“What do you  _want_.” It wasn’t a question. Haro pressed his hands down further. The desk groaned, threatening to buckle from stress.

“I want access to the Axian prisoner, signed over to my firm’s custody immediately. Our contact informed us of a holding period that lasts twenty hours, and the PPSN wants executive control of the alien’s interrogation before that rollover period. Your organization obviously failed to take proactive steps to avoid the second attempted invasion.  _We_ will step in to make sure no such error takes place again, instead.”

“I’ve been told the mech refuses to talk.”

“Perhapsyou just haven’t given it the correct level of encouragement.”

“Is that all?” Haro had to resist from sinking his fingers into the metal desktop. His hands ached, but not from the strain of inflicting damage: it was from holding back.

“Once the rollover takes place, we will let you know.” Thatcher’s smile widened as she pulled back. The woman was positively giddy. Her body seemed to vibrate knowing the position of power she was in. “Preferably, we would like the prisoner to signed over fully and transported to one ofour facilities. We would try him publicly, have him evaluated to prove once and for all that these Axians cannot be made civil, and...”

“And?”

“What do you do to a dog that bites?” Thatcher’s voice was cold. There was a hidden menace there that instantly had him on edge. “You euthanize it.”

“Some dogs bite in self-defense,” Chief Haro said.

With little choice in the matter (she had the leverage  _and_  valid signatures from citizens to demand his response), Chief Haro signed the order forms necessary for the PPSN’s representative to take over the interrogation case of their captured Doga Bomber. He wouldn’t risk giving her an actual datapad: even if they had their own agent on the inside, he still wouldn’t jeopardize giving away access to even  _more_ information. The second the papers were signed, she snatched it from under his glove.

“We’ll be in touch,” Thatcher cooed. She was still smiling when she turned and left the room.

Once the door slid closed behind her, Chief Haro slammed both his fists down onto his desk. The metal gave way under the applied velocity of his fists.

**vii**

He used to  _hate_  Sazabi.

Mark was not the kind of person to hate  _anything_ , honestly. He disliked how condescending his mother could be, how uncaring his father could act, and how aggravating the first week after his genetic therapy was. He was unable to finish an important exam for his music theory course: he kept breaking all his damn pens just  _holding_  them. While they were still dating, Keiko jokingly pointed out that mellow attitude towards everything could be mistaken for participation in recreational drug habits... but Mark had never smoked a day in his life. He really  _was_  just that “chill,” throughout his whole live and marriage to his wife.

Then the invasion happened, and someone threatened his loved ones.

He finally got a taste of his own anger.

He still had nightmares about it. He was always prone to night terrors as a child but never quite grew out of them, and the invasion gave his brain that much  _more_  ammunition to work with. One of the worst dreams featured the invasion, and his son was always the first to die. The second Shute opened his mouth to oppose the Commander on the Horn of War, a funnel would zip in front of him and land a precise bolt of death between his eyes. Moments after his body hit the ground Commander Sazabi would unleash a particle canon blast to atomize both his son’s body and the motionless Captain Gundam. His wife and daughter followed soon after. Screaming with grief on the opposite platform of Neotopia Tower, Keiko never had the wits about her to get out of the way, too stricken with anguish to avoid a second particle blast.

Chief Haro could never reach her and Nanako in time.

Of course he was going to hate Commander Sazabi. What normal human being  _wouldn’t_ have that reaction? Even if his family was perfectly fine in the wake of the invasion, the open wounds left in the aftermath still bled. Festered. Sazabi failed to murder his family, but that was just it: a failure. He did try to kill them, and the fact his wife was now willingly harboring her would-be-murderer in their house was  _insane_. It didn’t matter that he agreed with her because the circumstances were right: he was still angry. Furious.

The first time Sazabi tried to kill them –  _again_  – Mark nearly lost it.

He absoltely  _would_ have had the SDG come to remove the Commander, but Keiko insisted against it: that he was just having a temper tantrum and the security bolt had done its job before he could put the drain cleaner into the meal that she forced the Commander to help prepare. Mark wasn’t going to fight his wife on something she believed was the right thing to do (even if it  _was_  just to punish their would-be-alien-dictator houseguest), but the scare was too real for him.

“He tried to kill us,” Mark said. He wanted to cry, but he didn’t want to upset her. “He tried to kill  _you_  and  _Nana.”_

She tried to reassure him in the manner that usually worked, but he could only be convinced so far when the livelihood of his family was at stake. It was bad enough with Shute gone. The second time an attempted murder took place – when Sazabi locked up in the kitchen holding a  _butcher_   _knife_  in such close proximity to  _his baby girl_  in her height chair – Mark was out for blood. He stormed into his office, pulled out a newly christened EM pistol from one of his hollowed-out music theory books, and loaded ten full rounds into the chamber. He didn’t think he’d need more than three rounds, but he damn well intended to use all ten. It took every ounce of resistance in him not to crush the handle or the loading mechanism when he switched off the safety.

On one hand, he could have just torn the Commander to pieces with brute strength alone. But then the Commander wouldn’t see exactly where he screwed up. Mark knew he had to communicatethe mech'ssenence as much as execute it. Sazabi could still see in a locked-down state, and Sazabi understood  _guns_.

When he walked back into the kitchen, he had to hurriedly hide the gun in his waistband. Keiko had already switched off the Commander’s safety bolt (after confiscating the knife) and was scolding him like the time Shute tried to steal an extra helping of cookies off the stove when he was  _five_. 

As time went on, Keiko acted less and less like a warden and more like a concerned parent. Mark wasn’t sure what he hated more about that: the fact that she was treating the Commander like a son with their own flesh and blood was trapped a dimensional paradox, or the fact he couldn’t – wouldn’t – bring himself to argue with her about it. “Do you think we should get him a bigger bed?”

“He won’t even use it,” Mark offered. He was trying to tune his guitar outside. The chores were completed for the day, so Sazabi had holed himself in his room with the aforementioned bed in question. “He knows he’s too heavy.”

“I know, but maybe that’s why he  _won’t_  use it.” Keiko seemed genuinely concerned over this, and in a way, that made Mark mad too. He wasn’t angry at her feelings, it was  _natural_  for her to be so maternal. Even before they had children, that was just her personality and part of the reason he fell in love with her. His anger and hatred came from the fact that someone as  _irredeemable_  as  _Commander Fucking Sazabi_  could affect her that way. “I’ve seen Bakunetsumaru lie down. Captain, too. Zero was always hovering around, but I bet  _he_  lies down to sleep. It can’t be comfortable to be standing up  _all_  the time.”

“He was probably designed to sleep standing up,” Mark said, which was true: Sazabi’s feet were so big and reinforced, he  _could_  recharge comfortably standing upright. Whoever had designed him clearly knew what they were doing for allowing him to bear his own weight. “The dummy can’t exactly lie down that easy to begin with. You see the shape of his back? That can’t be comfy.”

“It still doesn’t seem  _fair_ not to offer him something.”

That was the keyword: fair. Mark knew his wife, and this was not the same woman who had offered to take Sazabi in two months earlier. Her initial willingness to take him on was not out of compassion, had nothing to do with her sympathy as a schoolteacher or even a mother. She took him on to inflict her  _own_ form of reprimanding for his crimes, yet as time went on, Mark saw less and less of that punishment ever coming to light. It wasn’t just because Sazabi was more receptive to her commands simply to avoid the hassles of her reproofs, either: she became genuinely  _kinder_  towards him. The severity of his chore workload was reduced. He had time to roam about the house in-between tasks. She let him choose how he wanted to spend the day rather than dictating his schedule.  _She defended Sazabi when protesters showed up on their doorstep._

She let him hold Nanako.

The first time he heard about it, he refused to believe she would do something so careless. Keiko was not  _stupid_. News outlets could replay the images of her rushing to the edge of Neotopia Tower’s north platform to challenge the Commander as much as they wanted. She was still a protective and responsible mother. When she told him she had left Sazabi alone with the baby on  _another_ occasion, he thought she was kidding. When she said Sazabi caught Nana after she fell off the sofa, Mark was in disbelief. Why had Nanako been alone with him in the first place? What had she been thinking?

The first time he walked in on Sazabi holding his baby girl, the mech was looking at her with that awful red optic like she was the most offensive thing in the world. The Commander snapped that optic in Mark’s direction as he entered the room. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon. “Your offspring is hideous. I assume you already know this, but you humans seem to  _delight_  in receiving constant reminders of blatant facts.”

“Assuming makes an  _ass_  out of  _you_  and  _me_.” Mark said with a mellow smile, but inside he was  _screaming_. His heart leapt into his throat and his fist clenched with enough force to shatter metal if he reached out and just  _clocked_  Sazabi in the side of his goddamn fucking head. He was holding Nana. Commander Sazabi of the Fucking Murder Fleet from Robot Hell  _was holding his eleven-month-old baby._

Sazabi was staring at him like he had grown a second head. “What?”

“Nevermind, it’s an old saying.” He casually strolled over. “Want me to take Nana?”

“And give your mate the impression that I am unable to do something as simple as hold an infant?  _Please_. If I can hold the fate of entire worlds, I  _can_  hold a baby without damaging it.”

 _Wrong answer_ , Mark thought, before reaching over and ripping Sazabi’s head clean off his shoulders. It was as easy as shredding tin foil. But he didn’t  _do_  that, because Keiko would have had too many questions. And Sazabi was still holding Nanako.

The baby was none the wiser to any sort of danger, giggling and reaching out for Sazabi gleefully. “Red!”

The Commander continued to hold her at arm’s length. “Yes, I am red.”

_“Red!”_

“Do you see what I mean?” The huge Axian flared his optic. It was an expression that read blatantly as  _disgust_. “Constantly pointing out the obvious! Is the infant malfunctioning?”

“She just likes red.” Mark still stood close by, hoping Sazabi would get the hint and  _give him the baby right the fuck now._

The Commander was preoccupied. His optic scanned Nanako up and down. Then, in a voice that uncharacteristically quiet, he spoke up once more. “Am I holding her correctly?”

Mark was caught off guard. “Huh?”

“I am supporting her backstrut.” Sazabi bobbed his hands, causing Nanako to squeal happily and flail her arms. Sazabi had her sitting in the palm of one hand while the other wrapped around her body. His thumb was curled around her stomach like a safety bar. His other fingers kept her back supported, just like he was pointing out. “The infant still insists on leaning forward. Does that have the potential to damage her?”

“Babies really  _should_  be supported up against something firm,” Mark said. “I always hold her against my chest. I can show—”

Mark had to resist the urge to  _scream out loud_  when Sazabi suddenly brought Nana flush against his chassis. The motion was so sudden that Mark nearly  _did_  turn around and snap the Commander’s neck on the spot. Somehow he managed to resist, and the Commander lived to see another few seconds. Sazabi made sure to support her back with his full palm while the other kept supporting her underneath. Nana was delighted with the change of position, slapping her hands merrily against the Axian’s broad armor.

“Red!” She flailed her legs happily.  _”Red!”_

“Yes, I  _know_  I am red.” Sazabi’s tone suddenly seemed less  _mean_. He became quiet as Nana continued to pat and swat at him, and for a long time, he and Mark sat in a strange silence. Hell, Mark wasn’t even sure  _what_ to say. The rage and horror at seeing Sazabi with his child seemed to fade with each growing moment.

Sazabi had his daughter – and his security bolt never once activated. He had no urge to hurt her.

“Is this grip sufficient?” Sazabi’s voice seemed genuine. The edge of his cruel personality was still  _there_ , but something significant had changed. Was this why Keiko had been less demanding of him in the past few weeks? Had she noticed subtle changes in his behavior like this, too? He was acting...  _normal_. “I am not damaging your sparkling, am I?”

“Naw, your grip is good. You definitely want to keep her head secure, though.”

“Testing acceptable parameters for my strength has been difficult,” Sazabi sneered. “I still can’t wash your ceramics without shattering most of your  _flimsy_  human tableware. I would rather not test that theory out on your offspring.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Mark said, then felt like laughing afterwards. It wasn’t a good laugh, either: he felt like he was going insane. He hesitated as he tried to reign in his grip on reality... then he reached out and touched Nanako’s blonde hair. The baby babbled but otherwise kept her attention on Sazabi. 

He realized moments later he was speaking from experience: the first time he was given the option to hold Shute, he declined. The same went for Nana. He knew he looked like an ass for doing it, but played it up as the “apprehensive” father. In reality, he was terrified of hurting them. He nearly broke Keiko’s  _hand_  the first time they went out on a date. As good as his intentions were, Mark knew he had he potential to cause grievous harm to anyone who he wasn’t careful with: his own family included.

And as quickly as it had come on, the urge to snatch Nanako out of Sazabi’s hands had completely evaporated.

“Oh, good! She’s not even crying!” Keiko came back into the room, walking over to Sazabi and holding her hands out. She didn’t bat an eye at the fact the Commander was holding her baby so close to his chest. Either she really did trust him or she was hiding her emotions as well as Mark had. “I hope you behaved, Nana.”

The second Keiko took Nana away from Sazabi, the baby kicked up a fuss. She started to cry moments later. Sazabi sneered, commented on how ugly the sound was, and then fled to the safety of his room.

As time marched on, Mark found himself engaging with Sazabi more and more. The interactions were cautiously friendly, but he didn’t  _hate_ Sazabi anymore.

And Mark held on hope that things would turn out for the better.

**viii**

If anyone had told Chief Haro that things would get worse an hour earlier, he would have laughed. But Murphy’s Law prevailed in the end, and a situation had escalated without him paying attention. Monique Thatcher, the PPSN representative, had attempted to indirectly assassinate their Doga Bomber prisoner.

“TANGO! Tango, please! Calm down!” Renee Clarke, one of the temporary mechanics hired to work after the initial invasion, skidded to a stop and was standing at an arm’s length from the trembling Doga Bomber. She had rushed in ahead of Chief Haro and the other on-site interrogator, pushing past the emergency team in full riot gear. The Axian had managed to dislodge the table from the floor where it was bolted down, allowing him to retreat to the furthest corner of the chamber. He was armed with a jagged table leg and his own snapping jaws. ”She can’t hurt you! I got to Chief Haro in time—!”

The scene was like something out of a horror movie. As the mechanic continued trying to reason with the frightened Axian, he snapped open the hatch on his faceplate and let out a menacing hiss. Half in shock, Chief Haro wondered if he had bitten Thatcher with hat awful maw. Her screaming would have indicated that maybe he had, but when he turned around to face her, there was no blood on her uniform. In fact, there wasn’t so much as tear in her clothes. Had she just been startled and made to fall down? Was that what she was screaming about? The furious half of him was disappointed she hadn’t broken her goddamn fucking  _legs._ Pulling the stunt she did, she deserved it.

“Turn that thing  _off!”_  His tone commanded the entire room, demanding obedience. He dully wondered if he sounded at all like the Commander, but he couldn’t angry. He was beyond angry. This woman had tried to pull a fast one on him - the entire Super Dimensional Guard - and he was  _done_ playing games. This was no longer a public relations issue that the SDG had to roll over for. This was an underhanded attempt to undermine due process. Chief Haro was absolutely fucking  _livid_. ”That’s a direct order! Do it  _now!”_

The guards immediately backed down. A few of them even turned tail and fled into the observation room adjacent. The resulting commotion was a sure indication that multiple bodies were trying to figure out how to deactivate the concentrated electromagnetic field. The lights were flickering and dim, the radio built into Chief Haro’s uniform was on the fritz, the electronics in his helmet were malfunctioning and firing off static... as he turned his attention back to the Doga Bomber, he could see the mech trembling violently. His optic was starting to roll back and his head was jerking rhythmically: a sure sign of an imminent electronics meltdown. Renee edged closer, her arm extended and her body lowered, ready to spring backwards if he attacked but  _insisting_  on getting as close as possible. One of the original interrogation officers assigned to the Doga shouted at her to get away. She ignored them.

“What are you doing!?” Thatcher was struggling to get to her feet. One of her heels had snapped clear in half and she was as pale. Her chest rose and fell drastically under her coat. “We signed a wavier, Haro! Legal documents! This mech was placed under my jurisdiction—”

“My executive powers over our prisoner end twenty hours after initial containment. I have the legal authority to discontinue old agreements and create new ones within the allotted time.” Chief Haro immediately turned on her, advancing quickly. Thatcher staggered on her broken shoe and was backed into the wall. He kept going. He went toe-to-toe with her right there, and as the guards cleared the space around them, he had to resist  _shouting_. This woman, with an outside third-party, had attempted to  _murder_  someone in the care of the SDG. He didn’t careifthis Doga Bomber was even worse than the Commander was. He didn’t care if this Doga Bomber was the head of the entire goddamn Dark Axis  _army_. He had a job to do right, one that he had been chosen for since he first agreed to let a team of bioengineers mess with his DNA for kicks, and he was not about to let some overconfident excuse of a human being  _trample_ that. ”This engineer warned me of the tactics you were using and immediately came to me with a new deal. Without Robo House, this Doga Bomber is assigned to Renee Clarke under indefinite house arrest with a security bolt.”

“You’re doing the same thing!? After what happened!?” Thatcher’s eyes darted past him to the Axian. She raised a hand accusingly to point at him, her voice dissolving into a hysterical squeal. “The public will hear about this! We will rip this farce of an organization to  _pieces!”_

Chief Haro didn’t answer. He couldn’t. On one hand she was right: the Super Dimension Guard could still be in jeopardy. It didn’t matter if Thatcher tried to torture an Axian for information and nearly killed him in the process. The public would hail her as a hero the second they found out. Any resulting anger would be aimed at the SDG for  _stopping_ such selfless act. After everything that the Dark Axis did to their world, between the first invasion and the following incident with the Doga Bombers, Neotopia was not going to act sympathetic. Hell, they were barely sympathetic after the  _first_ invasion. People called for Commander Sazabi to be imprisoned. Some wanted him shot off into space, hopefully in the direction of the sun. Others wanted him executed flat out - publicly. If it wasn’t  _Commander Sazabi_  they were dealing with, Chief Haro was sure the one protest that did occur at the Ray Household would’ve been a lunch mob.

Now it was happening again: an Axian was being granted amnesty when so many civilian lives had been destroyed in their wake. Neotopia was suffering.

But there were other things in jeopardy too. Important things. Shute currently trapped in another dimension after they lost contact with the  _Gundam Musai_  in the Minov Boundary Sea. The fate of another dimension as they brought the fight to liberate the multiverse. The fact that Keiko and Nanako had survived an overwhelmingly close brush with death was a miracle alone, too close to the alternative.

Sazabi’s life was in jeopardy.

There was a mechanical buzz and pop as the lights came back to their full brightness, no longer flickering. The Doga Bomber jerked in place and stopped seizing. His optic flashed once, then rolled in his head as he staggered and bumped his back against the wall. His legs gave out underneath him and he started to slide into a sitting position. Renee leapt forward and met him halfway, attempting to guide him down. One hand darted out to his chest. The other braced the side of his head.

“Help!” She looked over her shoulder at them. “Someone  _help_  him!”

“I can’t  _breathe_.” The Doga’s voice fritzed out, masked in an auditory blanket of static. His jaws were opening and closing like a fish out of water. The rising scream of his fans was a sure sign that he was no longer efficiently ventilating.

“You’re okay.” Renee begged.  _”You’re okay.”_

When Keiko received the news that Sazabi had – miraculously – come back to life, Chef Haro had been with her: even if only in secret.  _Mark_  was the one who was physically with her. She had been given photographs but only the ones that didn’t show the extent of the damage, to keep her from being even more emotionally scarred. She had gone through enough that night, Chief Haro ordered. She only had to know the basics and see the least offensive images. She cried at the table holding Sazabi’s medical file, already heavy with copies of detailed reports. She repeated two words over and over.

“He’s okay,” she said. The mantra was akin to begging, as if this bargaining would somehow fix the damage that was already too far gone. “He’s  _okay.”_

Chief Haro could not save Sazabi from himself. The gunperries, or any kind of reinforcements, had not been scrambled in time. The Commander took matters into his own hands by bringing the leader of the invading force, a mech that their communications experts could only determine as someone named  _Gerbera_ , high enough into the stratosphere to turn himself into a literal comet. The force of the crash had reentered the second mech nearly unrecognizable, but Chief Haro could still make out the hints of pink and bent command fin. The autopsy performed by Kao Lyn, the intercepted radio chatter from the Doga Bombers, and Keiko’s own eyewitness statements indicated that Zako Red was being used as a proxy.  _Gerbera_  himself was still alive and a definite threat, whoever he was. But not even an enemy using a mere proxy could deter Sazabi from doing what he did: because he felt he had no choice but to use his own body as a weapon.

The Commander was desperate. He was desperate when he saved Keiko. He was desperate when he saved Nanako. He was desperate when he  _killed himself._ And Chief Haro failed him.

The Doga Bomber slumped in the corner started to twitch rapidly. The residual energy from the EM field that he had been exposed to was causing his motor function center to crash. He was muttering something quietly, speech slurring.

Renee turned around and shouted again. “Someone PLEASE  _help me!”_

Chief Haro failed Commander Sazabi, and he felt guilty. He felt guilty about the protesters who despised him. He felt guilty about hating him so acutely when he so much as touched his daughter. He felt guilty that the Doga Bomber, who had no relation to the Commander beyond their affiliations in the Dark Axis, had been used as a vessel for such an awful person to take vengeance on.

The leader of the SDG stepped forward, gently ushering Renee to stand up. Stunned, the woman rose to her feet and shuffled back. The Doga Bomber felt unnaturally light for dead weight, he thought. The mech’s jaws flexed as he tried to ventilate air, the same way Sazabi had when he was found at his crash site by Guneagle. The room became deathly quiet as Chief Haro rose to his feet, and Thatcher made a sound like the air had been sucked clear out of her lungs. Good.

“You’re a  _freak,”_  Thatcher breathed. He didn’t think it was supposed to sound mean. In fact, her tone was  _fearful_. In her defense, it wasn’t every day you saw a man effortlessly pluck up a several hundred pound robot. ”You’re a monster just like _all of them.”_

Chief Haro wasn’t sure who  _all of them_  was, but he could imagine. 

Things could get worse. They could  _always_  get worse, but standing around not doing anything wasn’t going to fix the problems he had. He had to find strength in pain. Chief Haro couldn’t save Sazabi the way he saved Keiko and Nana, but he could still save  _this_  mech.

It was something. He was okay with that.

**ix**

Mark did not exist when first radar scans picked up rapidly advancing Doga Bomber units. There had been no pings from the Zakorello Gate to hail their entrance, and they weren’t looking for those cues to begin with: the Zakorello Gate was under full SDG control, inactive, and still located at Lab C. There were at least thirty units that they could see when Blanc Base’s staff threw themselves headlong into a Code Red emergency. The last incident with the same code-status had been when the Big Zam forced them into the ground.

Chief Haro was about to launch out of his office and rush to the bridge when Juli intercepted him in the doorway. Their eyes met and she ripped off her headpiece. “Permission to speak off the record, sir.”

It wasn’t a request. Haro felt his heart drop. “Yes?”

“Don’t panic.” Her eyes were wide. “Your house just burned down.”

His insides felt like they were going to explode. He reached out and gripped the doorway with enough force to bend the frame.  _”What?”_

“I just picked it up while scanning radio waves for civilian conformation of the Dark Axis forces. Firefighters and police have been dispatched to your address. It’s a massive house fire. Sazabi’s tracking device has him almost ten miles away and moving at speeds of two hundred miles per hour towards the city. We’re sending a gunperry to your house and Guneagle is already on his way to intercept the Commander.”

It was a catch twenty-two. Chief Haro was obligated to stay, but  _Mark needed to go home fucking immediately._ He rushed back into his office and desperately tried Keiko’s cell phone. It went straight to voicemail. He tried texting her. Nothing.

He was about to launch out of his office again and hijack his personal gunperry when Juli came rushing back. “Guneagle made contact with Sazabi.”

The red mech had murdered his family, just like in his nightmares. The security bolt had failed, and there was nothing Mark or Chief Haro could do to undo it. He wanted to scream. He wanted to pick up his desk and hurl it across the room and  _snap that scheming bastard of an Axian in two, how could he have TRUSTED him?_

Juli continued. “Sazabi  _had the baby._  Another Axian attacked your house to draw the him out of hiding and took Nanako for leverage.  _Sazabi saved her_. He passed her off to Guneagle and is not trying to corral the Doga Bombers. He’s avoiding their fire as best he can with no weapons, but we need to scramble gunperries to help him!”

Time had not been on their side. By the time his executive orders took effect, the Commander had turned into a streaking comet surging across the sky and a smoking crater in the ground. Chief Haro was left wondering  _exactly_  what kind of emotions he was feeling. There were so many at once, each more suffocating than the last. Confusion. Anger. Crippling grief, but for who? Himself for not being there for his family?

For Sazabi? For blaming him for something  _horrible_ , only to have it be a misunderstanding? 

When Sazabi did chores around the house, it was originally set to be a punishment. Before that awful day when the house was set on fire and Nana was taken, he did things on his own without asking. He helped Keiko cook, clean, and occasionally stuck around to watch television with her when everything was said and done. He watched, held, and even went as far as to  _play_  with Nanako (he would never admit it, but playing fetch with Zabi the dinosaur whenever she tossed it away from her  _definitely_  amounted to “playing”). Having Sazabi around the house for something as mundane as a barbeque was the new  _normal_.

When the news came in that he had somehow survived the crash, it was grossly bitter. He wasn’t going to survive long enough to be extracted for the hillside, apparently. The medics on site gave him less than a three percent chance of survival. There was nothing 

When Chief Haro removed the helmet, Markus Nigel Ray resumed existing. When the gunperry with his wife and child arrived at Blanc Base, Sazabi was still being extracted. Every second that passed was likely the second that he finally passed away, alone, on the hillside. Surrounded by compassionless strangers and power equipment and screaming gunperries. The thought of Sazabi dying by himself after he had done so much for them –  _him_ – was as raw of a thought as the notion that Mark nearly lost his wife and child in the same night.

And why?

“Why did you allow your offspring to go with Captain Gundam and the others?” Sazabi was standing by the balcony overlooking the forest behind the Ray household, his optic smoldering in the light cast by the sunset. He was glaring at nothing, accusatory to some invisible entity. “The boy who defied me on the tower. He is barely past the age where he can function without your constant supervision as his creators. Why?”

“He’s in good hands,” Mark said, tuning his guitar. Keiko had gone grocery shopping and had taken Nanako with her, since Sazabi was still busy replanting the bleeding hearts in the side yard. “Captain, Zero, and Baku are taking good care of him. Those guys are practically family.”

“You are not related.” Sazabi turned his head to glower at Mark, his optic focusing on him sharply. “You are organic. The Gundams are not. You  _can’t_  be from the same family unit.”

“Not all families are made up of blood relatives,” Mark chuckled. He tested a few chords on his guitar. Satisfied, he started strumming an easy tune: the opening measures of one of the songs achieved from the Old World, composed by a Markus Mumford. “Families can be made up of people who just sort of... accidently fit in.”

“That’s absurd.” Sazabi cocked his head back. “So you humans can forcibly  _assimilate_  members into your familial units?”

“Not forcibly. Accidently.” Mark shrugged. “Sometimes these things just happen.”

“Ridiculous,” Sazabi said, turning back to staring at nothing. “That’s almost as obscene as your world’s obsession with  _friendship.”_

“Last time I checked, didn’t  _The Power of Friendship_  kick your ass?”

“Don’t patronize me.”

A few more chords later, Mark started to laugh. The whole conversation had put him into a line of thought, and it sounded so silly even to him that he had to say it outload. “You know, as messed up as it is,  _you’re_  kind of part of this family too.”

Sazabi didn’t offer a retort for a long time. When he did, his voice was a mean murmur. He walked away without a word, but the air was still ripe with the lingering discussion. It was true. One way or another, Commander Sazabi  _did_  become a part of their family. And that family member was now either dead or dying alone. Both notions made Mark want to throw up.

The second he saw his wife and child exit the gunperry on the tarmac, he broke into a sprint, away from the fears and faults he left behind. He barely remembered colliding with Keiko, barely resisted crushing her on the spot when he took her into his arms and spun her around. Keiko was sobbing and clinging onto him. Nanako reached out to grab his hair and face, starting to cry only when she heard her mother do so. But there was one person missing, and it wasn’t Shute. Their son had a place to be, but Sazabi didn’t  _need_ to be dying in a hillside. 

The emptiness in the valley of his heart was crippling. The wounded family stood there for a long time, but the pain never went away.

**x**

The mechanic, Renee Clarke, was sitting with the sedated Doga Bomber and stroking the back of his head. He was lying face down on the tabletop in a recovery room while Bellwood installed his new security bolt.

“I see he’s doing better.” Chief Haro entered the space quietly, already feeling a weight lift off his chest. He had officially been away from his – surviving – family for more than thirty hours now. His excuse was that he was helping to repair the damage done at the recording studio he had in the city, but he was due to head home soon. He had only heard from Keiko a few times in that period: Pam was driving her up the wall, it seemed. “I heard the industrial-defragmentation worked.”

“For the most part.” Renee glanced up at Chief Haro, keeping her head low. It was obvious she was intimidated by his sudden reappearance. She didn’t stand up to address him, but he could tell it had nothing to do with disrespect: if she stood up, it meant pulling away from the mech she had helped to rescue. And she was not going to leave his side. “He was hurting pretty bad. The doctors who helped him said he might have migraines for awhile. But he’s still scared.”

If it wasn’t for her daughter and her husband, Keiko probably wouldn’t have left Sazabi’s side either.

“Understandable, given the circumstances. We will deal with the PPSN at a later date.”

“Assuming they don’t tear us a new one first,” Bellwood said. He grunted, twisting his calipers inside the open incision down the mech’s back plating. The Axian twitched and made a sound, kicking his leg feebly. Renee cooed and palmed the back of his huge head, saying something to him that Chief Haro couldn’t hear. Bellwood was talking over her. “Neotopia’s on a witch hunt for what happened. That crazy lady was only doing what everyone else who signed that petition  _would_ have done.”

“The fallout from the incident will be dealt with in  _time_.” Chief Haro made sure to put emphasis on his words this time. “Focus on the tasks at hand. We’ll deal with this in baby steps. We did so with the original invasion, we will do the same now.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” Bellwood gave his tool another twist, moving down to install another clasp that was part of the security bolt apparatus. The Axian mech twitched again, whining.

“Can you please be more gentle?” Renee asked, looking distressed.

Bellwood looked up from his work and frowned. “He’s not even gonna remember this.”

“I know, but—”

“Bellwood,  _could_  you try to be a little more careful?” Chief Haro was quick to jump to the woman’s aid, realizing she felt too out of place to properly object. “We’re not—”

“We’re not the Dark Axis, yeah,  _yeah_ , I get it.” The teen stood up, wiping his forearm across the top of his forehead. “Tell you what. I’ll give this guy a break for a few minutes so I can get my good blowtorch. The one that Reichold loaned me is a piece of crap, and I want to get this installed  _right_.”

Bellwood left the room, leaving Chief Haro alone with the woman and the semi-conscious Doga Bomber. The fluorescent lights buzzed, uncomfortable, and the simple hand-clock on the wall ticked down the seconds.

“Am I fired for good this time?” Renee didn’t look at him as she shrugged. “I mean. Not that I was ever  _really_  hired to begin with. Your security guys seemed pretty pissed the first time I broke the rules, and it probably wasn’t Thatcher’s place to rehire me after the fact.”

“I’d hire you right  _now_  if I didn’t think you were going to have your hands full dealing with your new charge.” Chief Haro moved closer, circling to the spot where Bellwood had been standing. He could see straight inside the mech, past his reinforced back strut where the virgin security bolt system was clamped down around the sensors. He could see the faintly vibrating shell of the main engine block, the pulsing of coolant cables, a smoothly running belt, gears clicking and turning... “Why did you do it?”

“Sir?”

“You saw something in this mech.” He looked up at Renee, and it was the first time since he met her that he could see clearly into her face. There was no obstruction of blind panic or a downturned head. Her only eye was bright and her jaw was set strong like her brow and high cheekbones. He wondered if Keiko would have looked similar with the same hair, and he decided she would have. “Why did you go in to talk to him in the first place?”

“I mean...” Renee’s brow furrowed even further. She averted his gaze again, choosing to look down at the Doga she had unwittingly gotten herself involved with. It was stunning how much  _larger_  she appeared to be next to him. “I’m not sure? I just... it looked like he needed help.”

“Looked.” Chief Haro couldn’t help but sound skeptical.

“I know it sounds crazy.” Renee smiled, but it was gone a moment later. “There’s nothing I can say to even  _myself_  to make this sound reasonable. When I first took this job, I was expecting to be put on maintenance duty. When they told me the other day that I was going to be the main engineer for an Axian prisoner, I was  _mad_. I was mad at Tango because of everything I saw during the original invasion. I was petrified - actually  _petrified_ - and there was no guarantee I was going to see the next day when that happened to me. So when they told me I was going to be working close with someone who could have played a part in my own murder, of course I was pissed off. Then I saw him awake in person just sitting there looking...  _lost_. When I started talking to him, I understood.”

“Understood what?”

“I don’t know.” Renee looked like she was concentrating. It was a determined expression: something he saw Keiko with often, especially after dealing with Sazabi in their own home. “It’s hard to explain. I think I understood what that woman went through. The one who took the Commander into her house?”

“Keiko Ray.” Chief Haro didn’t miss a beat.

“Yeah. I remember back when Sazabi hadn’t been at her house for long, there was a huge protest when media outlets figured out where she lived. A whole bunch of people got together and went to her property to protest. I saw it on the news the day after. She went outside and talked to the crowd about giving him a chance or something like that, and look what happened. He saved a baby. A monster - a  _real_  monster - wouldn’t do that.”

Chief Haro couldn’t answer.

“They’re not killing machines. The Axians, I mean.” Renee looked up at him again, expression solemn. “Tango proved he wasn’t one the second I walked into the room and offered him a piece of candy. He could’ve jerked his hands across the table and grabbed me even in the cuffs. They’re only predisposed to hurt people when they’re told to, and they’re made afraid of the consequences of  _not_  doing as they’re told. I think Keiko saw it in Sazabi, even if it wasn’t right away. I saw it the second I asked Tango if he wanted some chocolate.”

Tango, the newly-named Doga in question, muttered something again. His optic, faded and flickering, rolled in his head as he tried to come back to full awareness. Whatever sedative they had given him was doing its job fantastically.

“They had to knock him out twice. When he woke up the last time, he said he was afraid.” Renee put her hand on the top of the Axian’s head. He shuddered, revving his engine pathetically, before letting his optic roll back down with the pull of gravity. “I wonder if Sazabi was afraid, too.”

“When both you and Tango are moved into your home, I would like to receive your first status report as soon as he’s settled.” Chief Haro made to leave the room, feeling something uncomfortable settle in his stomach. He wasn’t sure what it was at first, but thinking about him again – Sazabi – made him realize what he still had to do. “Thank you again for your services, Renee. You’ve proven to be an invaluable asset to the Gundam Force.”

“It’s no big deal.” She smiled sheepishly. “I mean. Tango’s a good guy, but it’s not like I’m getting married to him or anything. We’ll be fine.”

Before Chief Haro left, he made sure to shake her hand. He couldn’t bring himself to look back at her before he left. If he did, he feared he wouldn’t have the courage to do what he had to next.

**xi**

Commander Sazabi was not alone in his room when Chief Haro entered. One of the nurses (Kelly, but he couldn’t remember her last name on the spot) was writing down notes on her datapad relating to the mech’s vitals. She spotted him entering the room and stood at attention.

“Sir,” she intoned.

“At ease.” Chief Haro had to resist the urge to show any visceral reaction as he came into the space. Commander Sazabi was still nearly unrecognizable. His brilliant red had faded to an off-brown with burnt paint chips still flaking onto the berth. His jaw was pried open to an unnatural angle to fit all the cables feeding him, his body was battered, the entire side of his head was still missing—

“Chief Haro?” the nurse was looking at him like a deer in the headlights. “Is there a problem?”

“No. I just wanted to see how he was doing.”

“Not great.” The dark-skinned woman pulled up her files, pursing her lips. “Still no response from the intact-parts of his processor after trying to stimulate them, and he started rejecting the fuel we were giving him last night. Kao Lyn has him on a regiment of premium grade but it’s not easy to produce. If he doesn’t take to the replacement fuel we’re working on, we’re going to run out of stuff to give him.”

“Anything else?” Chief Haro couldn’t look away from Sazabi, feeling his insides knot. “Did they finish analyzing the state of his substructure?”

“Dr. Keene should have it on your desk before the end of the week. Permission to speak freely?”

“Granted.”

“I was here when she came in. She said that his body  _may_ be salvageable, but only with a semi-complete gundamium overhaul. Most of his armor is completely beyond saving. Both his legs, too.”

Chief Haro could imagine the indignant cries of the Commander, in an alternate universe where he was  _okay_ , morbidly offended that he was going to be made more  _Gundam_  than his original axium mold. Now, Sazabi said nothing. His venting was painful to listen to.

“Moving him to a new body would be the best thing,” the nurse continued. “But without his memory units, we would just be building an entirely new mech.”

“Any progress there?”

“With the memories? No. They had to stop digging because of what happened to the last board that caught on fire. They don’t want to stress the one piece of his processor that’s still functioning. It’s his only hope if  _he_  ever wants to come back. Otherwise what made him Sazabi will be gone for good.”

It was a painfully grim outlook.

“There was  _one_  piece of good news.” The nurse chuckled a little. It was a tired sound, but still strained with a hopeful undertone. “His souldrive activated for the seventh time a little while ago. Twice in one day is the current record. The rest of the nursing staff is trying to figure out what the cause is since the doctors are still busy trying to keep him from dying.”

“How long ago?”

“I can get you the data from the nurse who was on duty later today. It wasn’t me, so I’m not sure.”

“Please get that for me if you would. Along with the rest of his information. I’d like to read it fully.”

“Yes sir.”

“Could you give me a moment alone with the Commander?”

The nurse didn’t object. In fact, she seemed happy to leave. Caring for Sazabi in his current condition likely wasn’t a nice job. When she was gone, Chief Haro pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. It was hard to look at the mech’s shattered face and realize it was the same person who they had grown so accustomed to living in their own house and—

Chief Haro reached out and touched Sazabi’s arm. He was ice cold to the touch. He used his other hand to hold his head upright as he bowed.

He couldn’t remember the last time he cried that hard.

**xii**

It was almost forty-eight hours before Chief Haro fell off the plane of existence, albeit temporarily. Markus Nigel Ray resumed his regular living under the guise that the cleanup at the studio in the city needed more work than he anticipated. He bought his wife a dozen roses (which he knew would annoy his mother, but didn’t care) and his daughter a small red knit cap. They had forgotten to pack one when they left their house.

Keiko practically threw herself into his arms the second he was back in the house. Nanako was squealing in delight, pulling at his hair with one hand and smacking him with her favorite red dinosaur plush with the other.

The rest of the day was entirely uneventful, even if only because Mark slept through most of it. When he finally woke up, it was evening and well past dinner. Nana would have already been tucked into her crib. Keiko was lying down next to him on the bed and reading a datapad. It was probably Sazabi’s hospital record. Ever since his crash, it always was.

“I made sure to save you a plate for dinner,” Keiko said, leaning over and ruffling the top of his head. He snorted and swiped tiredly at her, which only made her laugh. God, it was so good to hear her make that sound again. “Feel better, honey?”

“Yeah. Aw man, I hope you didn’t have to suffer through supper with my parents without me.”

“I didn’t. They went out to eat with some of their boat club friends. It was just Nana and I. We made breakfast for dinner. I showed her how to crack the eggs for the pancakes.”

“Before or  _after_  she tried smashing them?” Mark laughed a little as he sat up. 

Keiko was looking at him seriously now. “You have dark circles under your eyes.”

“Didn’t get a lot of sleep while I was at work, but at least we got a lot done.” He cracked a smile at her as best he could. “I’m fine, hon.”

“I’ll get the pancakes. Do you want syrup?”

“In a minute.” He reached out before she could fully stand up, snaking his arm around her waist. He pulled her back to the bed, and as she turned to face him, he reached out with his other hand to touch her hip. He had to lean up to kiss her, but when their lips met, she returned the gesture and settled down on front of him. The kiss intensified. When they broke for air, he could feel his heart pounding in his ears.

“Feel better, honey?” Keiko asked again, softer this time.

“No,” Mark admitted. Too many emotions were coming to a head at once. “I almost lost you and Nana.”

“You have Sazabi to thank for that,” Keiko said, quieter.

“I know,” Mark said. And for the first time in front of his wife since the night of the crash, he buried his face in both hands and was inconsolable all over again.

**xiii**

The last time he had a dream this bad about Sazabi, the circumstances were significantly different. He was in his full Chief Haro attire, searching his home for his wife and children. Shute, Nanako, and Keiko were missing. Sazabi was milling around the house aimlessly, optic blank and unfocused, and whenever Chief Haro demanded to know where his family was, the Axian Commander would just  _laugh_  and meander someplace else. He never found his family. Sazabi just kept laughing at him. Occasionally he would see blood on the walls, but the spatter marks were gone before he could hone in on them. Sazabi was always holding a knife.

This was a new breed of nightmare altogether, if it could even be called that. Mark was on the hull of Blanc Base on a beautiful summer day. The fluffy clouds refracted light, giving the world around him an ethereal glow. Even at several thousand feet, it was warm and there wasn’t a breeze.

He was sitting on one of the launch pads strumming his guitar when he heard choking.  

At first, he didn’t know how to react. It was so quiet, tranquil, that it seemed too out of place to be part of the dream. And Mark knew it was a dream at this point. Why would he be at Blanc Base without his disguise? Where was everyone?

The choking came again. He spotted a rope not lying too far away, coiled by his chair. He picked it up in his hands and followed its length to the edge of the runway, peering over the steep side to see where the cord finally ended.

Sazabi was hanging over the curve of the ledge, the end of the rope tied as a double-knotted noose around his neck. His optic was flared and his jaws were agape in a silent scream. His hands clawed furiously at his throat.

Mark screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the dreamworld air before it could reach his own ears. Furiously, he began pulling on the rope to drag the Commander back up. It didn’t matter that this was a fucked-up dream-turned-nightmare, he had to get Sazabi  _up_  and out of that noose. He had to  _do_ something. He couldn’t do anything after the crash, but now—

Sazabi was just as much of his family as his own wife and children. He had to do  _everything_.

Even in a dream, his genetically modified strength prevailed. As soon as Sazabi was close enough, Mark reached down, grabbed the closest thruster-guard, and pulled back as hard as he could to get the mech back on solid ground. Once the Commander’s upper torso was on the runway, he dropped the rope and dragged him back by his shoulders. As soon as his whole body was safely on the surface of the runway, he grabbed the impossibly tight roping around the Commander’s neck and  _pulled._ The rope came apart under his grip like sand. The Commander was gasping, salivating like an animal and coughing profusely, struggling to breathe. It was a miracle he hadn’t broken his neck or internally decapitated himself. The Commander said nothing, but his optic flashed meekly at him. He knew the shame of his defeat.

Like Renee said, Mark understood. He had seen the same.

The two sat together for a long time, saying absolutely nothing. 


	7. Molly Thatcher

**I want to throw you out, just like my broken TV.**

**Once I get my second chance I won’t leave you alone.**

**Hope you get stabbed in the heart, hope you get shot and expire.**

**Hope this is what you desire.**

**I hope you die in a fire.**

_Die In A Fire_ – The Living Tombstone

**i**

Bethany was turning her new cuff bracelet over her wrist, and her grin was infectious. It glowed like the cuff: warm and brimming with positive energy. The college-grad spoke excitedly. “This? Isn’t it gorgeous? My mom gave it to me for my birthday. It used to be my grandmother’s  _and_ its from the Old World. I didn’t even  _know_ we had a family heirloom.”

Molly couldn’t help but ogle at the cuff. It was gold plated and slightly tarnished with age, enough to give it the appeal of an antique without sacrificing quality.  The wide middle of the cuff was encrusted with little purple stones: amethysts. They were real, too. She remembered hearing about their abundance in the Old World in high school, but the mineral was much rarer to find on Neotopia. The largest amethyst was cut like a triangle, the edges worn with age. Molly couldn’t help but wonder when it was made. It had to have been over five hundred years old at the youngest. “It’s so  _pretty_...”

“An order of coffee and hot chocolate for Thatcher?” The barista working the counter was a plain GM. He was looking at them and holding the drinks out.

Molly got up and wordlessly retrieved the drinks in question, passing the hot chocolate to Bethany. She took it and stood up gracefully, the light overhead making her platinum hair and skin shine. She placed her drink back on the counter, reached into her handbag, and pulled out a simple pink coin purse. Molly recognized it right away as the same one she had gotten Bethany for her birthday a week earlier. She had to send it through the mail: she hadn’t been able to make the party. Even though Neotopia had abandoned physical currency for years, tipping workers was still a norm. The coins could be used by staff in exchange for benefits later on, and Bethany put three into the receptacle. The twenty-three-year-old flashed a toothy smile at the barista before they left, wishing him a good rest of the day in a cheerful soprano.

“Thank you” The GM worker called out, clearly thrilled with her generosity. “Please come again!”

“You didn’t have to tip that much,” Molly said when they were outside of the coffee shop. The door rang as it gently swung shut behind them. She sampled some of her coffee and mentally berated herself for not asking for extra cream. The GM had made it a little too strong. “He didn’t do anything special.”

“He made our drinks quick  _and_  he was nice.” Bethany said cheerfully, taking a delighted sip of her hot chocolate. The outside air wasn’t necessarily cold (they were both still in shorts and sandals), but there was a cool breeze and a definite chill if you stood in the shade for too long. Aside from that, it was another beautiful day in the city of Neotopia. The sun was starting to set and the sky was the same orange as Bethany’s t-shirt: another item from her birthday. The blonde continued, smiling blissfully. “What more should I have waited to tip him for?”

“Getting my coffee right.” Molly took another drink, this time a longer gulp, and made a sour face. She wasn’t going to be able to finish this.

“Life’s too short to bitch about coffee.” The platinum-blonde girl extended her hand as an offering. “Have some hot chocolate. It’s got a minty aftertaste!”

“No, it’s yours. This day out was my apology present to  _you_ , remember?” Molly exhaled as they started to walk along. She debated throwing her coffee away in the nearest receptacle as they got closer, then decided against it. She didn’t want to look ruder than she felt she already was, and she already felt painfully out of place next to her old friend. Bethany’s hair was in golden locks – hers was in thin black tussles. Bethany was in bright clothing – she was in a grey sweater. Bethany looked like she could associate with celebrities, much less someone as homely as Molly felt standing next to her. “You shouldn’t be giving me anything. That’s  _my_ job.”

“Suit yourself,” Bethany chirped, taking another sip. “It never hurts to give a little extra to people who do something nice, even if you don’t know them. That’s why I  _always_ give strangers the benefit of the doubt. Who knows? They might surprise you if you give them enough slack! I got a great hot chocolate out of it. Your coffee didn’t turn out that great the first time, but maybe they were having an off day. The next time we go, give them a second chance and they might impress you!”

Molly felt her face turn red. Calling Bethany out for tipping a barista a little more than she would have liked... what was she  _thinking?_  She mentally scolded herself. Bethany was so kind, it was just in her nature.

That unrestrained kindness was showing through again, too. The other woman cooed and elbowed Molly. The gesture was affectionate and teasing. “And I told you, you didn’t  _have_  to take me out on the town today. The little purse you gave me was perfect. I even got to use it in front of you for the first time!”

“But I missed the party.”

“Like you said, your mom had you guys busy at the church.” Bethany rolled her eyes. “What, you think I’m gonna hate you for the rest of my life because you missed  _one_  stupid party? I mean, it wasn’t even that good. Well, it  _was_ , but my brother kept nagging me about being careful with the new car. And my dad kept giving his new boyfriend the new stink-eye. His mustache makes him look a little old. I think it kind of freaked my parents out.”

Molly couldn’t help but make a face as they kept walking. “I’d be freaked out too.”

“He was really nice though, so that’s a plus. He got me a new phone case!” Bethany paused, glancing over at her. He expression shifted to reflect her sheepish embarrassment, and Molly couldn’t help but feel bad for making her friend feel awkward. “Oops. Isn’t your mom, like. Massively against that? Sorry. I keep forgetting.”

“No, it’s fine.” Molly  _did_ throw out her coffee at the next trash can they walked by, deciding an appropriate amount of time had passed. It was a little bit of Molly’s issue too, but to a far less extent than Monique Thatcher. Molly and her brother grew up homeschooled in the countryside until she was ready for the ninth grade, never fully exposed to the mechanized city-living familiar with Neotopia as a whole. Molly din’t meet her first full robot-citizen –  _not_  a pet or simple AI – until her first day of public school. She initially mistook the GM standing by teacher’s desk as a non-sentient assistant and gave him her coat to hang. He then introduced himself as their new writing professor. All the other freshmen laughed at her for the mistake, but not Bethany.

They had been friends ever since. But Molly was still awkward around mobile-citizens. Talking to them was uncanny enough, nevermind other interactions.

“It’s more her issue than mine, and she’s been... preoccupied.” Molly stuffed her hands into her pockets as they walked in the shade. The sidewalk was dark as the sun continued to dip down out of their sight behind the shops in the downtown shopping district. It was no Congenia Galleria, but it had plenty of cute stores and restaurants. It was the perfect avenue to spend a day out with your best friend of nine years.

“I saw her on the news the other day,” Bethany said. They came to a corner and crossed the street when the sign said indicated it was safe. They finally got the chance to stand in the sun as they passed over the crosswalk, their shadows elongating beside them. In the distance, Molly swore she heard roaring engines. Was one of the trains at the station a few blocks down having mechanical problems? Bethany kept talking as they passed into the shadows of buildings once more, the odd sound blocked by the concrete around them. “She’s been pretty busy with that whole Personhood Preservation thing. I don’t see what the point of it is.”

Molly looked at her friend critically. She couldn’t help but feel miffed. “You don’t know anyone who was affected during the invasion.”

“My brother was.” Bethany’s voice was hard. “He was petrified.”

Molly forgot about that. She apologized and rephrased her wording. “You don’t know anyone who was  _killed_.”

“God, I hate politics.” Bethany laughed brightly, trying to shrug off the dark cloud of the conversation. “Promise me we’re not debating, okay? I just feel bad that your mom runs you ragged running her club, that’s all. And the Dark Axis can’t get into our world without their portal thing. Seems kind of mean that they want to harass Sazabi when he can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

The Personhood Preservation Society of Neotopia was hardly a club, but Molly wasn’t going to correct her. She was only trying to help. She was  _always_  only trying to help. “It’s fine. I didn’t think we were debating. We’re just talking,”

“Good.” Bethany laughed cheerfully. The sound of a distant engines was slowly getting louder, the city structures no longer able to barricade the sound. What  _was_  that? Bethany was either ignoring it or still hadn’t noticed, because she continued talking. “It’s really sad that people died. I went to the candlelight vigils and memorials in-between work shifts. But the Commander  _was_ punished. If most people got their way just to penalize him over and over again, we would never find the time to heal. You know?”

“You don’t think he got off easy?”

“Sending someone to prison is easy. Killing someone is even easier.” Bethany smirked, almost giddy. “Making a robot-supremacist live nicely with the same humans he tried to destroy? That’s  _brutal_. I bet the woman who adopted him makes him  _garden_.”

Molly couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh my gosh.”

Bethany was encouraged by the reaction and continued. She screwed up her voice and put a hand over one of her eyes, widening the other and rolling her eyeball around dramatically. “Citizens of the flowerbed! Hear me! I am your supreme ruler! Prepare to be weeded! I like standing around arguing with little kids and having the shit kicked out of me by a robot half my size, ha ha  _haaa!”_

Molly laughed again, harder this time. The sound came out stranger than she anticipated, and it took her a few seconds to understand why: the city was quiet. Too quiet. She looked around. Progressively, people and robots alike were standing around in confusion and looking towards the sky. The sound of a shrieking turbine –  _turbines_ – was growing louder and certainly  _not_  coming from the train station around the corner.

“What  _is_  that?” Bethany looked up and swiveled her neck, trying to hone in on the sound like a radar. Her tone was more curious than anything else, but Molly was getting worried. It was getting louder still, a menacing growl rising through the jungle of skyscrapers and smaller constructs.  She could see Bethany’s new car come into view as the sidewalk curved, parallel parked across the street and wedged between two sedans. A sign on the street corner read Bright Way. Molly couldn’t remember the model name, but it was definitely one of the fancier ones.

“Wanna go to the Galleria?” Molly felt something in her stomach knot. She wanted to leave. She didn’t want to be standing out in the open anymore. Goosebumps pricked on her arms and the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. The sound was  _still_ getting louder.

Bethany grinned and opened her mouth to say something.

The resulting thunderclap as something  _zoomed_ overhead shook the display window next to them. It was for a flower shop with beautiful arrangements on display, marked down for a weekend sale to make room for autumn stock. Molly  _swore_ the thing that flew past was red, but it moved too fast to make it out in its entirety. The window beside them continued rattling as three dozen more shapes zipped through the sky after the first. They were winged, angular, and all too frighteningly familiar. More windows rattled. Car alarms were set off. A baby was crying.

Someone down the street started shouting in disbelief. “ _It’s the Dark Axis!”_

_“Was that Commander Sazabi!?”_

_“It’s happening again!”_

Just as fast as the Axians had appeared, they were gone. The large group of those horrible flying monsters were swirling higher above the city now, rapidly ascending. Were they chasing something? As the initial shock of panic died down, citizens darted onto the street to gain a better view. Cars that hadn’t already stopped screeched to a halt as their drivers got out. GMs that  _weren’t_  cowering under store awnings were sure to cover their heads (but not a single control horn dropped out of the sky).

The city was silent. The shapes over the city swarmed for almost a full minute, darting erratically back and forth after  _something_. It was too difficult to make out from so far away, and with so  _many_ of them... 

“We should get out of here,” Molly breathed, but she couldn’t move. Her legs felt like lead. Bethany didn’t move either, her eyes focused on the shapes in acute concentration. 

One of the specks that larger than the rest dive bombed the cluster. The Axians spiraled around it in a tornado of movement that broke apart and scattered in confusion. The largest shape snapped back up and sound  _popped_ over the city a few seconds after. It rocketed high into the sky at an insane speed and was gone.

Another minute passed. No one - not even the Axians - moved. You could have heard a pin drop. The usually bustling city of Neotopia stood completely still, aching in the muted terror that was strangling it.

A comet appeared and slowly streaked across the sky. Bright and gold, trailing red, it was simultaneously beautiful and ominous. It disappeared from Molly’s line of sight behind one of the tallest buildings as it fell. There was a beat - then another thunderclap that followed soon after. Had it crashed or simply exploded midair?

“What the hell?” Bethany was breathing evenly, but her eyes were sharp. The fear was finally shining through.

“We  _need_ to get out of here,” Molly begged. She reached up and tugged on her friend’s shirt. She couldn’t stop shaking and the skin on her hand was clammy. ”Let’s get to the car and make a break for it.”

One of the black specks in the sky started to fall. Then another. Then a third. Someone screamed, but the city was otherwise still stunned into silence.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Bethany said, looking down and fumbling with her purse. She plucked out a familiar set of car keys, turning around and jogging toward her car. Molly lost her grip on her shirt. She tried to follow, but her feet refused to move. She was breathing faster. Was she having a panic attack? The shapes in the sky all seemed to be moving one by one in eerie unison. The slow rise of engine roars perked her hearing. A second person screamed.

“Molly!” Bethany’s voice was a frightened squeak. She was afraid now –  _really_  afraid. “Get your ass  _over here!”_

As Molly turned, she realized she had misjudged the rate at which the specks were falling. Everything had moved so precisely in slow motion, having the real world catch up was nothing short of a punch to the gut. A black shadow streaked across the sky and struck one of the skyscrapers a block away. The Doga Bomber collided with the edge of the glass windows like a gunshot and tore across half of the building, sending glass flying before it stuck a support beam and burst into flames.

It wasn’t until the second Axian struck the pavement that  _everyone_ started screaming. Humans and alike GMs scattered in separate directions as the next Doga came down, crashing into the road down the street and flipping a truck. Another came down on top of the building directly behind Molly. She saw debris and had the sense to immediately reeled backwards, tumbling into the now shattered floral window. Glass stabbed her in the back as a bouquet of summer daisies pitched forward and smashed on the sidewalk. 

She heard someone across the street start crying, followed by a  _massive_  explosion. It threw her backwards onto the broken glass again, slicing through her heavy sweater and cutting her legs open. She could smell blood and fire. She tasted smoke in her mouth before it ever started burning her lungs. A woman and a GM ran past through the dust ahead of her, clutching a sobbing child between them. Four more explosions sounded one after the other. One of the emergency sirens installed after the first invasion started to wail, piercing the city as accurately as the suiciding Dogas.

Molly struggled to her feet as four more explosions sounded off. She looked up, struggling to see past her own tears.

Bethany’s car was engulfed in flames. The fire rose past the height of the second story building behind it, billowing and black and foul. The roof of the sedan had caved completely inward, the twisted wreck of a dead Axian embedded in what little remained of the recognizable car. There was a charred, still flailing hand sticking out of the window from where Bethany had tried to wave her in. The cuff bracelet’s amethysts sparkled in the light of the fire.

Ten more Axians came down, and Molly  _shrieked_.

**ii**

Molly Thatcher went to the funeral for Bethany Collins a week later. Her mother went with her, insisting she not go alone. As if Molly couldn’t be even  _more_ devastated about that day.

“These are dangerous times,” Monique Thatcher said on the way to the cemetery. She turned the car off the highway exit and down a secluded road, leading away from the city. They passed a construction crew working on a still-unrepaired crater. Molly had to look away and focus on something else, but the distractions in the car were far from preferred.  The abused windshield wipers were running on the fast cycle even though it was barely raining. The radio station was playing her least favorite kind of music. Her mother was smoking with the windows too far up again. The cabin was already filled with a noticeable haze and it smelled like cherry. Molly  _hated_ cherry.

“Can you put that out?” She asked her mother quietly, hopeful. 

Monique glowered at her daughter across the cabin, chastised her for taking up a rude tone of voice, and continued to puff her flavor-stick. The humidity outside was going to ruin her hair if she lowered a window, she offered. It was hardly comforting. Monique only smoked when they were going to formal events (because she thought it made her look important), and fact she had chosen  _today_ to start smoking again was making Molly’s stomach knot. Monique was wearing too-bright lipstick too, dressed in a canary yellow petticoat, long floral pattern skirt, and fancy summer bonnet. It was almost the end of September. As they turned into the cemetery, Molly could see that everyone on the closest hill was in black. It wasn’t where Bethany was being buried. 

They passed two more funeral processions before Monique spoke again.  ”You need to be careful of who you can trust. Neotopia isn’t what it used to be. Enemies to our very humanity are crawling  _everywhere_.”

“How’s your arm?” Molly glanced at her mother in the driver’s seat as they passed another funeral that was ending. A woman who looked about her mother’s age was crying hysterically and being consoled by a GM. Molly wondered who she had lost. The death had to have been unexpected to draw such a reaction: another victim of the Dark Axis. Molly couldn’t bear to look any longer. 

“Still  _very_ painful.” As her mother turned down another small road, she did so with only one hand. Her right arm was still in a sling after her fateful visit to Blanc Base. Monique wouldn’t talk to  _anyone_ about being attacked by the Axian prisoner the Super Dimensional Guard had captured. She insisted she would save the explanation for the television interview with Colony News Reporting, where  _everyone_ could hear her story. She almost died, she said.

Molly wasn’t sure she believed her. ”You can stay in the car if it’s bothering you.”

“No. I’m fine, sweetie. I’ll just take some extra pain pills when I get home.” Monique braked as they reached the bottom of the designated hill: they had gotten directions from the Collins family the previous day. The subsection of the cemetery was marked with a sign listing the plot as Ten Karat Hill. It was lined with rows of plants meant to bloom in the summer, now flowerless and slightly ugly. Bethany still would have loved it, though. As the car came to a full stop, Monique reached across with her good arm to turn the engine off. “If anything, it may serve a greater purpose. The SDG will have to answer for it.”

“And you can afford to miss work?” At the top of the hill, Molly saw the familiar shapes of Bethany’s family gathered. She recognized her mother first, red faced and being consoled by friends. Molly tried not to look for too long, her gut clenching in agony.

“Your brother has my duties in the Society covered.” Monique grinned, but it was a sarcastic kind of smile. Her little laugh cemented the expression perfectly. The air puffed by her mouth made the cherry fog swirl in the cabin around them. ”Not being in the limelight will do good and well to hurt the SDG. People will be expecting to see me since I went up there, but what they  _don’t_ know is that I’m recovering from my ordeal. They’ll worry and want to know what happened. When I  _do_ my interview, people will be outraged to see how I got treated. Anything that helps to bury that awful organization is a godsend, and I  _will_ do my part.” 

Molly didn’t press the issue further. She just wanted to get this over with. She got out of the car and waited halfway for her mother to walk around, her white heels clicking obnoxiously on the gravel. Monique locked the car, and they hiked the thirty foot path to join the funeral reception at the top of the hill. It was a small group consisting of Bethany’s parents, a sad grandfather, a few aunts, a young cousin, Bethany’s older brother, and—

Monique Thatcher ground to a halt at the top of the hill, looking perplexed – maybe even a little upset. “Those are the mayor’s aides.”

Prio Collins was tall and remarkably quiet: a sharp contrast to his energetic little sister. Bethany was outgoing and bubbly and  _loud_ in steep comparison to his meek and soft-spoken demeanor. Prio was the closest person to them as they came up the hill, as was the ornate grey GM next to him. Molly recognized Leonardo immediately, as he was usually always seen with Mayor Margeret during official events. The mustache was a dead giveaway, too.

“Molly,” Prio breathed softly as he spotted her. He reached out for a hug. She returned the gesture but felt cold doing it. It was just another reminder that Bethany was no longer with them. That, and she could feel her mother starring daggers into her back. “Thank you for coming. We were worried traffic on the A-16 was going to hold you up.”

“You’re still in your work uniform.”

“We were just dismissed a little while ago,” Prio said. He sounded painfully tired, and Molly couldn’t blame him. Dealing with the aftermath of the Dark Axis attack couldn’t have been easy on the government level, and she genuinely pitied him. There were dark circles under his eyes, deep and dark, further marred by how flushed his face was from recently crying. “There’s still a lot of work that has to be done, but the mayor insisted we both take the day off.”

“Prio has done nothing but run himself ragged.” Leonardo’s voice was pre-programmed with an Old World accent that Molly couldn’t immediately place. The GM reached out and touched Prio’s arm, looking up at him with a flash of concerned light behind his visor. “It has... not been a good few days.”

“Leonardo’s been a lifesaver,” Prio said, smiling faintly. He didn’t elaborate further than that, quiet as ever.

“I was not aware that the SDG was involved with funeral services,” Monique said, finally making her way over. There was an edge to her voice that Molly instantly recognized, and her shoulders were squared for a fight. It was far too late to put it down.

“It is not, ma’am,” Leonardo said. He glanced at Prio, who was already frozen like a deer in the headlights of a semi. The GM was quick to spring to his aid. He took a step forward. Monique took a step back. Satisfied, he continued. ”We work for Mayor Gathermoon and are not members of the Super Dimensional Guard.”

“Yes, but you’re  _affiliated.”_

“Prio is Bethany’s older brother,” Molly clarified. There was no use trying to unruffle her mother, but she could at least try to appeal to her. ”He’s one of the mayor’s aides.”

“I recognized him,” Monique said. She was scowling.

Prio’s voice was soft when he found his voice again. “You’re the woman with the PPSN. Your group staged a protest outside our offices a few days ago.”

Molly used the opportunity to slip away. While Prio and Leonardo kept her mother entertained, she moved through the small crowd towards the epicenter of the gathering: a lovely metal casket, cast in the same cream-white as Bethany’s destroyed car. A wreath of white flowers stood at the mouth of the hole in the ground where the coffin would go, posed next to a portrait of Bethany from her recent birthday. The headstone was already installed.

 _Bethany Ann Collins. A loving daughter and sister. August 25th N.C. 0264 - September 7th N.C. 0286. She did more than exist, she lived._ _  
_ _She did more than listen, she understood. Rest peacefully, dear. Goodness will always prevail._

Molly couldn’t decide what was worse: the fact that her best friend died after defending why keeping Commander Sazabi alive was a  _good_  thing, or the fact she died so soon her birthday. Or the fact that she had to die at all.

So much for her going to the next one.

Goodness did  _not_ prevail.

Molly didn’t realize she was crying until she heard her mother let out an indignant squawk. She turned around sharply, tears rolling hot and angry down her face, to see her mother protectively shielding her bad arm. Her face was pale.

“How _rude—!”_ Monique looked like she wanted to backhand Leonardo, who was standing between her and Prio. Unfortunately, her backhanding hand was the one in the sling.

“I am only trying to help, ma’am.” Leonardo’s visor flashed as he gestured to her arm. “If your arm was broken, you would not be clenching your fist. It would hurt far too much. It is not healthy to keep an uninjured arm in that position unless you  _really_ have a broken bone. Your elbow could lock up and make things more painful later.”

Out of her element and with people starting to stare, Monique did the only sensible thing and fled the scene. Clutching her arm still in its sling, she struggled down the hill in her too-tall heels. Molly debated going with her knowing how upset she was going to be, but she needed to be  _here_  right now. As her mother disappeared, another car rolled up with the pastor to begin the funeral.

She said goodbye to her best friend one last time, and sadness gave way to unrelenting  _fury_.

**iii**

Killing Commander Sazabi would have made things so much simpler.

It was one of the worst parts about all the  _shit_  that had happened in the past few months: starting in June, when the Dark Axis staged their original invasion. If petrifying bugs and murderous robots weren’t enough, the SDG had to  _save_ the Commander. Everyone cheered for his destruction on top of the Horn of War that day, but when Captain Gundam had his chance to deliver the final blow... he didn’t. Cheers for jusice turned to shouts of disbelief. The Gundam plucked the strange black “souldrive” from the alien warlord’s chest and let him collapse, still alive, when a proper execution had been so  _close_. If Commander Sazabi had died, the Dark Axis would have had no further foothold in Neotopia. By allowing Sazabi to  _live_ , the Super Dimensional Guard left a window open in their defenses. The Dark Axis still had that connection to their world, and the window became a door. Of  _course_  they came back. They came back in steep numbers to collect their lost asset, and one by one, those numbers became statistics embedded in the ground. One hundred and seventeen humans killed. Three hundred and six injured. Seventy crippled for life.

In the universe where Sazabi was not allowed to survive Captain Gundam, the number of casualties would have been zero.

Exactly what had sparing the villain  _proved?_ That Neotopia was ultimately above the killing prowess of the Dark Axis? If that was the point the SDG wanted to establish when they allowed Sazabi among them, it was piss poor. Neotopia did nothing but reveal that it was a pompous  _fuck_  of a city that thought it was above basic survival instinct. Letting Sazabi live was not a good idea: it was  _never_ a good idea. His survival allowed a cloud of death to descend on their paradise once more, smashing their security as a species to smithereens.  Humans had already faced extinction back in the Old World. Was that not enough? Did they have to continue suffering just to prove they were  _good?_

Bethany was dead. What good was a utopia if you could go out one day and just not come home?What good was a paradise if you had to stand helplessly by the wreckage of your friend, comforting her while she burned alive, because that was all you  _could_ do? She was in the hospital for days until she passed away. Every moment was spent in agony, and all because one person - a horrible  _thing_ \- was allowed to supersede life above her. 

 _He_ was the one who deserved to die, not  _her._

Molly said grace before crawling into to bed that night. It was something that used to bring her deep comfort, but now it just felt like an extra chore. God was as dead as Bethany was. If He hadn’t abandoned them when they fled the Old World - Earth - in the wake of whatever disaster claimed it, He had certainly abandoned them now. A literal devil in red was given amnesty above a girl who embodied everything  _right_ with humanity, and there was no excuse for it. 

As Molly pulled the comforter over her, she reached under her pillow and produced Bethany’s cuff. She lied the Collins family about not finding it on Bethany when they finally freed her from the wreckage. They were understandably upset, but she  _needed_ it. It was the only piece of Bethany that she had left to hold onto. She reasoned that she was going to return it eventually...

_“If most people got their way just to penalize him over and over again, we would never find the time to heal. You know?”_

Molly was never going to heal. She wanted to punish Sazabi over and over and over and over and over.

**iv**

Old World Studies had been a favorite part of Molly’s curriculum when she and Bethany were still in high school. The classes themselves were handled a lot like basic history (the human race’s journey through space in cryo-sleep, the founding of Neotopia, the robot-rights movement, recent events)... but there was always an element of fantasy to it, and the suspension of disbelief regarding Earth was borderline romantic. Massive reptiles, dinosaurs, once roamed the planet millions of years before the first humans existed. There were periods where people built pyramids and elaborate cities with nothing more than simple tools. There was the Renaissance, Victorian period, and AI Century. Impressive cities like Pompeii, Rome, and Ypsilanti Michigan existed. 

Earth was wonderful and mysterious. They hadn’t even explored the whole  _thing_ before the forced exodus of mankind.

“I wonder why we left,” Bethany would ask herself, but it was never really a question. “Something awful must have happened.”

No less awful than being burned alive and murdered, Molly thought.

The topics involving ancient films were usually the best. The movies were familiar in the sense that humans existed within them, but they were still so  _strange_. Robots seldom appeared, the cultures were drastically different, and the line between myth and legitimate history was often skewed. Bethany loved Wild West films the best: she would gush about them for  _days_ after any classroom screening took place. Molly generally preferred the colorless movies because of their aesthetic. 

One movie in that genre stood out in particular to her, about a scientist who created a monster. 

The film wasn’t the first in its “franchise.” There was a novel that inspired the movie, but Molly found the book much less compelling. The monster was sympathetic in the book and certainly  _not_ a proper monster, which was boring. In the movie adaptation, the scientist thought himself above the natural order of life and created the monster just to prove he could.  The monster eventually got loose and killed and little girl when she got too close - too  _trusting_. The townspeople banded together to seek justice in response to the murder. They marched on the windmill where the monster had retreated to hide. They set the structure ablaze in a tremendous standoff, killing the monster trapped inside and protecting their village. The story was supposed to be fictional.

During one of the nights after Bethany’s funeral, Molly had a dream. Commander Sazabi and his Doga Bombers had been grounded and were being driven on foot to an abandoned warehouse. The building was on the waterfront shipping district, as frail and condemned as the windmill. The chase was spearheaded by courageous citizens and Bethany was there, too. Pitchforks were replaced with steel pipes and baseball bats – whatever weapons people could get their hands on – and Molly had a torch made from a wooden pole wrapped in kerosene soaked rags. The Axians were herded into the abandoned warehouse and holed themselves inside with a poorly erected barricade. The Gundam Force was nowhere to save them. They had unwittingly sealed their own tomb.

Molly was the first to throw her torch. Others followed suit. The fires erupted upward and swallowed the building whole in a matter of seconds. The heat was unbelievable. Through the choking flames that ate away at the warehouse, she could hear the death throes of the melting Axians within. She could see the flashes of their red optics as they searched for a way out, their insides cooking and causing many to explode. Sazabi’s screams were the loudest - demonic. The city finally had the execution they deserved. The people cheered. She hugged Bethany.

When Molly woke up, it took her a minute for her brain to catch up with reality. The bed was cold and the air smelled of lavender air freshener. Confusion gave way to crippling sadness, which then made way for burning anger. She got up, got dressed, and went around the back of their house to the old shed where they kept extra supplies for the church. She found the old television that Monique insisted they would get it fixed for the sunday school classroom, but right now Molly needed a fix. She dragged that horrible piece of shit out, grabbed the nearest baseball bat from the collection they used for the church’s Summertime Olympics, and smashed the TV until it was an unrecognizable mess of smashed glass and mutilated plastic. When she was done, she sat on the grass in her pajamas and cried.

Bethany was still dead, and she wished Sazabi had died in that fire.

**v**

Molly was never an angry person, but something about this –  _all_  of this – had changed her. She would never be happy again. She felt it when she remembered that Bethany defended Sazabi, just minutes before her own murder. She felt it when she went to Bethany’s funeral and had to say goodbye. She felt it when she realized her dream wasn’t real and got up to smash the television.

Now she was feeling it again, starting from the second her mother opened her mouth at the interview.

The anchorwoman for Colony News Reporting was sitting across from Monique Thatcher with a concerned look on her face, nodding sympathetically every so often. Molly recognized Leah Durand as soon as she had come into the studio to start the interview. From the way she had her hair up (her staple look when she was running serious news segments) to the sharp way her eyes locked in on her mother, she was taking this segment  _very_ seriously. She was well known in the cutthroat world of news reporting, and Molly thought she was even more intimidating in person than on TV. Both women were seated in large chairs facing a cluster of cameras in the news studio, ten minutes into the recording that would air later that night as a CNR exclusive. ”And the SDG didn’t immediately respond to the chaos?” 

“It almost took a full  _minute_  for the alarms to even come on,” Monique explained. The tone was theatrical. Her injured arm was now in a proper cast, but Molly seriously doubted now that it  _was_  broken at this point. It wasn’t wrapped in plaster like you would see in the hospital: just bandages that you could get at any corner store. Molly wondered how hard her mother would trip if she was properly questioned about it. ”Sixty seconds is a long time to suffer in such  _violent_  company. The Axian ripped the table free from the bolts on the floor and went to charge me. I would have been  _killed_ if hadn’t dodged backward at the last second. I lost my footing and slipped, and that’s when he went to grab my  _arm_ —”

“That’s so  _horrifying_ ,” Leah Durand mused, thoughtful and mortified sounding at the same time. Any audience member watching at home would  _have_ to feel compassion for Monique. “It’s amazing that you escaped with your life, never mind your arm. It honestly took them that long to respond to the breach? Did they not understand the severity of the situation?”

“It did, and they were  _clueless_. Their security was so underwhelming, it was a disaster waiting to happen from the second I walked in.”

“And when security did respond, they kicked  _you_ out?”

“Preserving and protecting my almost  _murderer_ , no less! A disgrace!” Monique looked positively ruffled at this, her voice raising an octave in indignation.“ Chief Haro announced to me  _himself_  that the mech would be given the same security device Sazabi had. Some good  _that_ did them! We all saw him attacking the city that day!” 

“The Doga is going to be put into another civilian’s  _house?”_ Leah Durand sounded angry herself, which would no doubt fuel the viewers when the story aired.  “Who would be willing to house them?” 

“Oh,  _that’s_ a laugh. The woman who was assigned to be that horrible robot’s mechanic, I imagine. I won’t say her name on national television, I’m  _above_ calling traitors out, but she probably has that  _thing_ in her home as we speak. It’s only a matter of time before that killing machine is lose in the public just like the Commander. I have to ask, when will the madness end? These monsters cannot be dealt with civilly. How many more people have to die before the SDG sees that?”

“You know someone who was killed in the most recent attack, which makes the  _pain_  here so much worse,” Leah Durand said. Her voice was soft and caring: an equally stellar performance.

Thatcher nodded proudly. “Yes. My daughter’s best friend was horribly murdered in the attack. An Axian purposely crashed into her car as she was getting in. She was transported to the Marida Medical Center in critical condition with burns on ninety percent of her body.”

“She passed away the day you went to Blanc Base.”

“Her death was so  _tragic_. She was only twenty-three. Her birthday was just a few days earlier...”

Molly couldn’t listen to the  _puss_ coming out of her own mother’s mouth. Her brother shot her a look at she left the studio, but Nathan didn’t bother to stop her. Good, she thought. If anyone interacted with her – if they  _dared_ – she felt like she was going to explode with the force of her rage. Monique talked about Bethany as if she were best friends with her. Molly could pretend to let her get away with faking a broken arm, but she could  _never_ forgive something as blatant as grieving for a person she had no right to. Not like that. Not on live television. Not when she, Monique’s own fucking daughter, had been ten feet away from the explosion that robbed Bethany of her future.

The future was gone now. Up in flames. Dead in a fire.

Molly left the studio and burst through the rotating doors of the news center, inhaling sharply as she took a breath of fresh air. She felt like she had been drowning. When had she started crying? Tears stung her face as she reached down into her coat pocket and hastily retrieved her phone. She dialed the number she had put into speed dial two days earlier but didn’t have the guts to call.

 _“This is the Super Dimensional Guard’s general call center.”_  The boy who answered sounded very tired. He couldn’t have been older than her, possibly still in college himself.  _”How may I assist you today?”_

Molly had a vivid series of thoughts that flashed in her brain. Her standing over Commander Sazabi on his deathbed. Her holding a knife. Her plunging it downward into his exposed inner-workings. She severed as much as she could as the body twitched. A single optic flared to life as he looked up at her, too damaged to move and stop the assault. She didn’t even think about the other Axian at all, honestly: the one who her mother had met. He was a bullet like the Doga Bomber killed Bethany, but Sazabi was The Gun. She kept plunging the knife down as fast as she could (no matter how much she  _knew_  a knife would be next-to-useless in real life), over and over—

 _“Hello?”_ The boy sounded almost fearful.

“Why won’t you kill him?” Her voice broke. “Why won’t you let him  _die?”_

The boy knew who she was talking about. His response sounded rehearsed, and that only made her angrier.  _”Everyone deserves to life peacefully here in Neotopia. The Commander’s injuries were sustained trying to_ stop  _the Doga Bombers and their leader. He was not associated with the attack. We will be releasing official statements regarding—”_

“We deserved to live in peace  _too!”_  She almost screamed it. She wanted to – badly – but the shriek died in her throat and choked on her own breath. Instead it came out in a heavy rasp, and without even hanging up, she turned and smashed her phone as hard as she could on the pavement. She cried uncontrollably, and no one passing on the street could console her.

She would never be happy again.

**vi**

The interview that aired on Colony News was a hit.  _Blanc Base Terror with Monique Thatcher and Leah Durand_ was the name of the piece, and it had a record number of viewers for any exclusive aired in Neotopia in fifty years. The only thing guaranteed to rival it was the Super Dimensional Guard’s first public press conference since the original Dark Axis attack - which was announced less than an hour after the Thatcher-Durand interview.

Someone at Blanc Base was watching the interview too, Molly thought, and they were  _not_ impressed.

The press conference was to be held in Neotopia Tower’s government sector the next day, scheduled for two o’ clock in the afternoon. The Personhood Preservation Society of Neotopia used the opportunity to organize counter protests across the city proper, and people showed up in the thousands. The center of the protests, of course, was at the mouth of the government sector. Organizing people to come wasn’t an issue on such short notice, either: the interview that aired made sure of that.

Molly showed up later than she wanted to the protest outside the tower. Traffic in the city was still bad from construction repairing the Doga Bomber damage, made worse from the protests. Her and mother and older brother were already there as she pulled up into a designated parking area, meticulously fenced off from the rest of the crowd. A massive cluster of obvious protesters stood scattered amongst the sea of bodies, but an equally large collection of bystanders stood silent. For as many people that were protesting, many more were just there out of genuine curiosity.

In another lifetime, Molly may have been a quiet onlooker as well. But not anymore.

She crossed the police barricade and made her way across the choked lot to where her mother was. Monique Thatcher was dressed in her old peace-corps uniform and surrounded by other members of the PPSN hierarchy. Her sling was an obnoxious white that clashed with her coat colors, and she was currently fussing over it as she chatted with the organization cabinet. Nathan stood next to the group with an awkward air circulating around him. He beckoned Molly closer with his gaze, and once she was close enough, she noticed the second man standing next to him. He was dressed in a dark jumper with a baseball cap and glasses, but despite how inconspicuous he was trying to be, she recognized his silhouette.

“Hi Alex,” she said.

“See, this is why I actually  _like_  you kids,” Alexander Reichold said. His eyes were hard behind his sunglasses. ”You don’t draw goddamn attention to everything around you. Your mother tried introducing me to some of her new friends as  _Justice_. She can’t fucking  _pull_ that shit in public. If you’re going to give me a stupid codename, don’t scream it in front of me and point. If I get caught, she loses her informant and I lose my chance of taking over the Robo House program.”

“I’ll remind her not to do that,” Molly said. But not now, obviously: her mother was visibly animated and would refuse to be subtle if called out for something. Nathan grunted in approval. Her attention was diverted to him. “How’s mom?”

“Caught her stretching her arm this morning,” he said. His voice was clipped as he spoke: he was clearly annoyed. “It definitely isn’t broken like she keeps saying it is.”

“Of  _course_  it’s not bloody broken,” Alexander said. He lifted his hand. It was wrapped in a heavy bandage with a metal brace fixed in place. “Every bone in my hand was  _crushed_  when Sazabi clamped down on it. You know how much force needs to be applied to human bone to break it?”

Nathan looked like he was going to open his mouth to answer, but Molly reached up and touched his arm. It was a rhetorical question.

Alexander told them anyways. His expression was twisted into a sneer.  _”Two thousand pounds per square inch._ I’ll be in a cast and physical therapy for the next three years,  _and_ they have me on bone-growing hormones.  _To regrow bones._ I can’t even do my  _job_  anymore. The bastard was barely coherent when he did this. Monique wouldn’t even have her  _arm_  if that Doga got his hands on her the way she announced. All the SDG has to do is release the security footage and she’ll be ratted out for the biggest liar in Neotopia.”

“There was security footage?” Molly couldn’t help but sound skeptical. “She said the cameras wouldn’t work with the electro—”

“Yeah, well, the cameras were EM-proofed. Bellwood or someone else with too much time on their hands rigged the whole system to work even after a full EMP burst. Everything she said and did was recorded in high definition. Turns out when you threaten to murder an alien on live CCTV, they tend to react violently. The most he did was lunge  _once_ , but he didn’t even touch her.”

“Shit,” Nathan said. He glanced up at the podium. “You saw the video?” 

“I had to. When they brought the Axian into the hospital to look at him, they gave us a copy of the footage. We had to count all his visible seizures to judge how bad the EM damage was. Not like I could actually work though. Crippled doctors can’t do much. Fucking useless hand...” 

“Think they’ll bring it up?” Molly asked. “The footage, I mean.”

Alexander laughed sarcastically. “Of  _course_ they will. Haro’s not an idiot  _and_ he’s vindictive. That bastard is going to dismantle your batshit mother in the nicest way possible and let the  _colony_  tear her a new one. Alien invaders or not, no one likes being lied to.”

“Do you think we’re in trouble?” When Molly spoke, she realized she meant  _we_  in a different kind of way. It no longer included her mother, who was spiraling and no longer the asset they could use. Monique sensationalized the public and got them to rally behind her when she was under the spotlight, but all attention was making her unstable. She was making mistakes. Trying to call Alex by his alias in public and faking an injury was just the tip of the iceberg. It was the  _Monique Thatcher Show_  in the PPSN: everything was about  _her_ and not their overall goal. They wanted Sazabi punished –  _destroyed_  – and all traces of the Dark Axis cast out from Neotopia once and for all.

Monique’s goal was not justice. It was to make noise and bring herself to the forefront of a fight she had no reason to battle. Molly  _had_  a reason to fight. Their mother only had herself and the chance to be relevant.

It made Molly see  _red_.

There was a flash of blue on the stage as a woman walked out. She was dressed in the signature SDG uniform and carrying a datapad. Flanked on either side of her were Gundam Force GMs. Several protesters screamed obscenities but were quickly hushed by the falling murmur that swept through the auidence. Alexander swore and muttered something crude about the grey-haired woman who appeared. As she readied herself behind the auditorium, camera flashes went off. The conference had begun.

“The Super Dimensional Guard would like to thank the members of the public for coming out or tuning in to listen to this announcement,” she said evenly, standing straight at the podium. “My name is Julia Petrov. I am the head of communications in the SDG. We wanted to have this conference as early as last week, but prioritized directing our attention to repairing city assets and helping those injured. With the destruction mostly cleared and those still hospitalized now in stable condition, we want to address exactly  _what_ happened in the wake of our investigation into the attack ten days ago...”

The crowd was silent. Molly could feel her heart pounding.

This was  _why_  Bethany had to die. She needed to know.

Julia began reading from a datapad she had wth her. She periodically looked at the audience as she spoke. ”On that Friday evening, shortly after Commander Sazabi was given back flight privileges and seen at the local UC-Mart in the shopping district, a house invasion and arson was carried out at the Ray household where he was stationed. Keiko Ray, the Commander’s charge, was at home at the time with her one year old baby. Both were uninjured and rescued thanks to the quick thinking of Commander Sazabi, who returned from the UC-Mart, saw the fire, and rushed inside to save Mrs. Ray. Unfortunately, the culprit to the attack still had the baby. The mech responsible for the attack has been identified as the red Zako seen during the original invasion. This mech was being used as a proxy by a much higher agent in the Dark Axis hierarchy, above even Commander Sazabi.”

A chill swept through the audience. Molly heard someone cough nervously. A train turned over its tracks in the distance as a fleeting echo. The AI controlling that train was probably listening in on the radio, she thought. The entire  _world_  was listening, as small as it was.

In the mass, she suddenly felt a wave of insignificance. She felt  _small_.

Julia Petrov continued. “The proxy, who identified himself as Gerbera, removed the Ray’s infant from the property. Commander Sazabi pursued to attempt to retrieve her. This was a ploy on Gerbera’s part, who used Sazabi’s unarmed status to lure him into a trap where he could be attacked by assembled Doga Bomber forces. Commander Sazabi was determined by the Dark Axis forces to be a liability in the wake of the failed invasion back in June, and thus he needed to be eliminated. They did  _not_ enter our dimension through standard means that our computers could be alerted to. Despite the overwhelming odds, Commander Sazabi was able to rescue the kidnapped baby and flee the scene. The baby was later transferred midair to one of aerial Gundam units. Commander Sazabi attempted to lead the Axians away but was only able to get as far as the city, as he had sustained some damage to his flight controls. We at the SDG believe his actions are responsible for preventing further deaths, as it was revealed by our Doga Bomber prisoner that there  _were_ other assassination targets. These targets included Mayor Margaret Gathermoon and several SDG operatives, many of whom were on the colony with their families at the time of the attack.”

Molly felt  _hideously_  small. She glanced at her mother, who was stone faced and not moving. So was the rest of the PPSN cabinet. Molly recognized them as other members of their inter-connected church community, but she found she couldn’t put names to faces. Every time that woman on stage opened her mouth, she felt like she was disassociating.

“The red comet that everyone saw in the sky that night was Commander Sazabi,” Julia said gravely, “who apprehended Gerbera’s proxy and used himself as a missile. Commander Sazabi struck Tomino Hill and killed the proxy instantly, possibly sacrificing his own life in the process. Unfortunately, without their leader, the Axian aerial units bombarded the city in a last-ditch effort to keep their technology out of our hands. This could not have been predicted. Attempts to stop the attack by our own pilots went in vain, as the Doga Bombers simply avoided our gunperries. The SDG would like to take a moment to thank the brave pilots who tried to shield the city without the order to do so, in direct conflict with the preservation of their own lives. We would also like to take a moment to honor the heroes who went out of their way on the city streets to rescue others, many of whom were strangers until that fateful day.”

She paused. The air of sobriety had thickened to the point of  _smothering_  the audience. Molly felt like she was going to throw up. Someone needed to say something. Someone needed to shout that Commander Sazabi still couldn’t be forgiven so  _easily_. He was an Axian just like the attackers that murdered Bethany. That couldn’t be  _ignored_.

“I don’t believe this,” Alexander said. He sounded almost  _impressed_.

“Commander Sazabi was extracted from the hillside later that evening and rushed to our Blanc Base intensive-care facility, where he underwent life-saving procedures. He remains in critical condition after his surprising act of heroism with severe head and full-chassis trauma. His survival is not guaranteed, but the Super Dimensional Guard will do its best to help anyone in need:  _especially_  those who can no longer fend for themselves. We at the SDG would also like to take the opportunity to condemn the actions of the PPSN and Monique Thatcher for the negative rhetoric they have spread regarding SDG operations, using only selective information gathered by their intelligence agent  _Michael’s Justice_. To counter the PPSN and their underhanded maneuvers, the SDG will release previously-classified data relating to this incident on our servers fully acceptable to the public. When it can be determined that the Dark Axis has zero chance of re-entering this dimension to steal sensitive information for themselves, further details will be released in the upcoming weeks.”

“Holy fucking  _shit_.” Reichold ripped off his sunglasses, as if looking at Julia directly would somehow wound her. “Haro, you sneaky son of a bi—”

“We believe the public deserves to know  _truthful_  facts regarding the incident, including having to field reports of actions taken by the SDG to aid in relief efforts. In the wake of the interview done by Monique Thatcher on the Colony News outlet yesterday, we will also be releasing a copy of the security footage from her interrogation with the only surviving Doga Bomber. This tape will conceal the identities of SDG staff but not Mrs. Thatcher herself, as we do not want to be accused of withholding data not protected by privacy laws. This video will initially be  _only_ shared with the PPSN, so they may review it in full before a proper public release. We at the SDG wholesomely  _trust_  that the PPSN will not edit the footage in any way, nor we believe they have the capacity to even do so. We will allow them to view the video file before they publish it on their own servers. We have faith that the PPSN will find that Monique Thatcher could  _not_  have grievously broken her arm in the manner she described in the television interview, nor that the Doga Bomber currently under his own mode of house arrest is truly a menace.”

Alexander started laughing quietly under his breath. He sounded hysterical.

Molly looked at her mother. Her eyes were wider than she thought possible for another human being, and her skin was like marble.

Julia smiled gently at the audience, but Molly could see the fire in the her eyes from the distance between them. “We will not be taking any questions at this time. Concerns, especially related to clean up efforts, should be directed to the city maintenance council. Thank you all for listening.”

**vii**

Her mother stopped wearing the sling that night, but she kept her arm in the cast: a last ditch effort to maintain whatever image she had left with the rest of the PPSN cabinet. She was probably going to be forced to step down as the head of their public relations ambassador – whatever that actually entailed. Screaming on camera and making a fool of yourself? That sounded accurate. While the core members of the PPSN met at one of the large activity centers outside of town, Molly got her brother to cover for her as she slipped away. She needed some time alone.

“Where are you even going?” Nathan asked.

Molly didn’t answer him. She got into her car and sped off into the night. 

She only knew two things in total certainty. One, that if  _she_  had overseen the PPSN’s activities, they would have gotten things  _done_. None of the bullshitting around that her mother did while trying to find a place in the spotlight making herself look holier than thou wholesome. Two, that she still hated Commander Sazabi. She still hated the Doga Bomber that survived. She still hated the Axians that bombarded the city.

She still hated the monsters that murdered Bethany.

One hundred years earlier, the old factory that sat on the outskirts of her home district was a metal processing plant. Neotopia was still a small colony in relative size to the planet, and to keep things clean, mining operations for metals were conducted  _beyond_ the colony borders. After mining, they were they transported to processing plants to make construction materials. Many of the factories had since been abandoned (colony expansion was postponed in the past thirty years), but they could be revitalized in the event of another extension endeavor. She and Bethany used to come here all the time when they were on summer break to hang out and explore. Sometimes other kids or a curious GM would wander over to peek around, but for the most part? The place was  _theirs_.

Coming back felt therapeutic. It also stung. This was the first time she had come without Bethany.

Molly turned the ignition off on the car and got, hoping Nathan would continue to cover for her. She turned her cellphone off for extra coverage if her mother decided to get snappy with her for not being at the meeting. She needed the time alone to breathe. She fished a flashlight from the car, her fingers tripping over her mother’s lighter still on the floor. Urgh. It was just another reminder that her car permanently smelled like cherries, now. Another aggravation, but it helped to hone her thoughts.

She needed to focus. She needed to get  _mad_ again. As an afterthought, she reached into her purse and produced Bethany’s cuff bracelet. Molly started to carry it with her recently. Wearing it would help her groom her anger.

Bethany used to tell her that anger never helped anyone. “It clouds your judgment Molly,” she used to say when they were staying up at the her house for sleep overs. 

Prio had a game system he never played, and Bethany usually commandeered it for them to mess with. One game in particular was an old jumpscare platform with animal motif robots and a nightguard, but Molly could never get past the first level: which was supposed to be the easiest. She used to get  _so_ upset she couldn’t beat it. 

She was even  _more_  devastated when Bethany suggested they do something else. “You do things that you wouldn’t do if you were calm. Let’s try again later.”

There was no more  _trying again later._  Sazabi – everything he represented – needed to be destroyed before people forgot again. They started to forget after the first invasion, and look what happened! One hundred people died when they were turned to stone in the original Dark Axis attack, and now even more were dead: Bethany included. People had to remember. People  _had to remember._  The press conference was another distraction to make people abandon their fury. Molly found felt more intensive on what had to be done when she was  _mad,_ and the rest of the world had to follow her example.

Just  _thinking_  about Sazabi in such a sacred place, where she and Beth grew up having so much fun together, was helping. She could formulate a plan like this. She could  _think,_ and no one was going to distract her.

She walked into the abandoned building through the ajar cargo doors, flashlight in hand. The factory was two stories tall with overhead walkways and crossbeams that cut through the stale air. Heavy equipment cast long shadows and blotted out the moon where its light shone through the decrepit roof. Bethany used to like to climb on the equipment just to see if it would hold. Molly remembered one time when she nearly fell and barely caught herself on a catwalk. It was a close call and Molly was horrified, but Bethany was more than ready to jump on something else and repeat the cycle. They used to have so much fun. Not just here:  _anywhere_. But this place had been special. It was theirs. 

As Molly moved along the shadows, she let her fantasies claim her. She knew she should have been planning how to deal with her mother to try and save the PPSN from sinking, but her brain was wandering. As she strolled among the heavy machines, she imagined what she would have done in her mother’s place if  _she_  had been charged with going to Blanc Base. 

She made up a story in her mind where she was confident and impressive, waltzing into the SDG base to demand the immediate execution of the Commander Sazabi. The other mech needed to die too - the Doga Bomber - but he was less important. Chief Haro told her she would be allowed to carry out the execution herself  _if_ she could successfully interrogate the Doga Bomber prisoner. She did. Molly was able to intimidate him into telling her the Dark Axis’ dark plans – that another invasion was imminent! That was when she produced the small gun from her handbag and plugged a single round into his forehead.

Humbled, the Super Dimensional Guard didn’t stop her when she demanded to see Sazabi next. He was still pristine and red when she waltzed into his hospital room. She pressed the barrel of the gun to the side of his huge head and pulled the—

“Hello?”

Molly froze.

Something was wrong, and it wasn’t  _just_  the realization that someone was in there with her. While the ceiling was already spotted with broken panels that spilled into the open sky, there was a much more jagged hole further ahead: wider than the rest, made recently by the lack of decay around the edges. The largest of the refinery machines was placed underneath it, and it looked as though it had been struck by something heavy. A conveyer that fed the mouth of the machine was snapped in two, a beam that supported part of the structure was collapsed, and something was shifting in the darkness below the hulk of the—

 ”Hello?” Quieter this time. Hesitant. The voice was tired and fearful.  _”Commander?”_

Molly approached and peered around the corner of the collapsed machine. She couldn’t stop the flashlight beam from shaking. She felt like the girl in the horror movie who just made the critical mistake of finding the monster too soon. 

Lying partially under a part of the collapsed machinery was a single Doga Bomber, its optic snapping in her direction and giving a frightening flare. Molly wanted to scream but the sound caught in her throat and suffocated the sound. The thing’s optic focused on her with a mechanical whirl but it didn’t get up to attack. It couldn’t. Both its legs and one of its wings were pinned beneath a shattered section of conveyors and support struts. The other wing was snapped clear in half and partially speared by a collapsed beam. The space smelled foul, like spilled gasoline and crude oil.

Not all the Doga Bombers had fallen on the city, she thought dazedly. The Commander must have taken out several of them before ever reaching that airspace, forcing them to crash. This one was still  _alive_.

Molly  _stared_.

The Doga Bomber stared back. For a long time, neither one of them said anything – and then the Axian started to whimper.

“Human,” it said softly and slowly, as if it were trying to appeal to her. Its voice seemed to  _skip_ from either a glitch or damage sustained from its fall. ”I am extremely d-damaged. I have not been able to move in over ten days. Please— please assist me. I will not destroy you. I— the Gundam Force of this world granted amnesty to the Commander. P-perhaps they can help... the Dark Axis— I mean.  _I_  am aware that the Gundams’ operations are no longer a secret on this world. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Molly said nothing. She continued staring. All at once, she felt nothing and her body was numb.

The Doga sputtered. Its engine kicked up pitifully, a whine wrenching free from its voice box. Was it afraid? Was it suffering? ”Fleshling, do you comprehend what I am saying? Please respond. Why... why are you looking at me like that?”

The mech said nothing as she put down her flashlight and calmly walked back to her car. She knew her way back at this point – and she was going to need both hands. She turned over Bethany’s cuff still on her wrist the entire way, slowly crossing the asphalt and going into the trunk of her car. It was one of the cheaper models that rolled on tires rather than antigravs, and it was her father’s - bought brand new – before he passed away. The original tire iron was lost at some point during the Thatcher family’s ownership of the vehicle, and the replacement was one of the industrial ones made for trucks rather than her lightweight two-door. At first it was almost two heavy, but the sight of Bethany in her mind – burning alive and flailing – was enough to grant Molly the strength she needed. Anger helped her focus. Blind rage let her  _function_.

She had her second chance, and she wasn’t going to leave it alone.

When she walked back to the fallen Axian, its optic flared.

“Damn,” it whimpered, and raised a shaking arm to defend itself.

**viii**

Old refineries caught on fire all the time, she reasoned. And her mother wasn’t going to miss the cheap lighter she left on the floor of her car.

Molly sat in the driver’s seat looking through the fogged windshield. She was breathing heavily and sweating, her shirt and jacket clinging to her like a second skin. Smoke slowly rose from the holes in the roof of the factory, spilling into the pristine air with ominous intent. Her hands gripped the wheel until her knuckles turned white. This place with Bethany was desecrated long before she started the fire: there was never going back to it now. The only thing she could do was purify it.

None of the other places would be intruded upon, either. The whole  _world_ was a special place in and of itself. Like her headstone said, Bethany had lived and loved here. Molly would fight to keep it pure from the Axians for as long as she lived.

She waited for the phone to ring several times before finally answering. Nathan sounded like he had been running. “Mom’s looking for you. She’s pissed.”

“What happened at the meeting?”

Nathan paused. “The other board members watched the video. It’s  _bad_ , Molly. She talks about killing the Axian on camera and he even cries at one point. She was torturing him.”

Molly was monotone. She didn’t feel anything. “They can’t release the video.”

“If we don’t, the PPSN looks worse than bad. The SDG knew that and trapped us by giving  _us_  the footage to release. If we  _do_ release the footage, the PPSN could get canned and mom could be put on house arrest. Especially if the public decides that she was in the wrong.”

“They won’t.”

“You haven’t seen the video, Molly.”

“Axians aren’t people. Neotopia would never side with them after all the things they did.” She was still monotone, and she still felt nothing. Had wrath rewired her brain? Was she even the same person?

Nathan paused. She could just imagine the stupid look on his sheepish face. Or maybe he could tell that she had changed. ”Molly—”

“It’s not the end of the world,” she reassured. She had never felt so convicted in all her life. “But it  _will_  be if we don’t keep doing everything we can to remind people what’s happened. If you give the Dark Axis an inch, they’ll take  _everything_  away. We don’t need a third invasion.”

“Mayor Margaret had her own press conference preaching for everyone to try and heal. She says that the Gundam Force is taking the fight to the Dark Axis—”

“Then we have to fight too,” Molly said. “We have to fight with all of our fucking might on the homefront, even if our mother won’t. Humans survived extinction once. We can do it again. Are you in?”

Nathan, who had always been loyal to their parents his entire life, said nothing. Molly watched smoke billow from the building ahead of her and wondered how long it would burn for. She wondered if Bethany could see it, wherever she was now. She would have been so proud of her for trying to avenge her, for finally making a stand when she had been so meek her whole—

Molly looked down at her cuff.

The largest amethyst was cracked down the middle, ruining the jewelry in its entirety. When had it broken? Molly’s mind ground to a halt, then sputtered with its wheels spinning in the mud as she tried to scramble for an answer. Had she broken it during the scuffle with the Axian? When she went to take the first swing and fell flat on her ass from the weight of the weapon? She stared at the broken gemstone with her heard in her stomach as the first orange lights began to illuminate the stone. Flames began reaching through the holes in the factory roof, arching for heaven. Part of her hoped the Axian was still alive: it could burn in a literal hell where it truly belonged.

“Molly? Are you still there?”

“Yes,” she choked. She wanted to be sick. Rage and grief went hand in hand like fire and fuel, and she was burning in an inferno.

“I said yes,” he said. “Mom’s losing it. You’re right. Whatever you want to do, I’ll do it.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said. She  _was_  going to cry. “Wanna go get a coffee?”

“I’ll get my wallet. Meet me at the bus stop? Mom’s still at the house.” He paused. “You okay, Molly?”

“No.”

He didn’t press, God bless him. “I’ll see you in a few minutes. I love you.”

She hung up the phone and cried. She felt ruined and dirty, like she would never be happy again - and she knew it was true. This was everyone’s fault but hers, and she was the one in the firing line. Bethany had been in the crosshairs too. Everything was crumbling around her. Neotopia was scarred: infected by everyone who thought even for a second that Commander Sazabi or any Axian deserved nothing short of a burning grave.

The humans of Neotopia fought for their right to live once before. They could be mobilized to do it again, no matter how long it took. Even if it meant going back to their roots as human beings – without robots, alone in space, with no one to answer to but themselves.  

Molly threw her car into reverse, spun around and sped out of the abandoned parking lot with her foot pressed to the accelerator.

She screamed.


	8. Shute Ray

**I’m not a fan of puppeteers, but I’ve a nagging fear,**

**someone else is pulling at the strings.**

**A terrible catastrophe, played by a symphony,**

**what a terrifying work of art!**

**Discord, are we your prey alone,**

**or are we just a stepping stone for taking back the throne?**

_Discord_ – Eurobeat Pony

**i**

Shute stared at the video feed as his heart sank into his stomach. He felt like he was going to be sick.

The room lapsed into uneasy silence.

When Captain Gundam finally spoke up, his words were slow and deliberate. Shute could tell by his tone that he was trying to mask his emotions. The Gundam had come a long way from being the deadpan agent of justice when they first met... but the shift in his demeanor from the announcement was blatant. He was professional and courteous as always, but there was a twinge – a _twist_ – of something hidden beneath the codec of his voice. They had been friends for so long now that it was impossible _not_ to notice.

Captain was just as horrified as Shute was.

“You said Commander Sazabi survived?” The Gundam moved his hands over the console where Shute could more clearly see them. His fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to clench his fists. This was supposed to be a status update about Lacroa, not the other way around. Not when so many more people had been hurt.

Killed.

 _“Yes. A Black Directive was issued to retrieve him.”_ Chief Haro’s image flickered. The dimensional communication hub was functioning now that they were back in the Minov from Lacroa, but the connection was shoddy. The blast from the destruction of the Steel Dragon had knocked a mass majority of the ship’s functionalities offline again. Haro continued as the audio feedback intermittently choked between bursts of static. _“Unfortunately, he sustained significant damage to his processor and superstructure. His chances of recovery are slim.”_

“But my mom and baby sister are okay?” Shute couldn’t help but jump in again, cutting Captain off as the Gundam opened his mouth to reply. He hated to seem rude, but his heart was racing in his knotted chest. The boy could feel he was starting to sweat, but he felt cold rather than hot. Was this what a panic attack felt like? “They’re not hurt, right?”

 _“They’re fine, Shute.”_ Chief Haro’s voice was soothing. Shute was reminded of all the times his dad would give him reassurance whenever something went wrong, like falling off his bike or failing a homework assignment... but this wasn’t like those times. This was an utter disaster thinly disguised as a status report, and nothing was going to _fix_ that. Shute knew it. They all knew it. Chief Haro continued. _“The Commander made sure neither one of them was injured. He dragged your mother out of the fire and rescued Nana before the SDG was even aware there was a problem.”_

“But the same cannot be said for the city,” Zero mused. He sounded distant, staring off at nothing as he turned away from the display. His optics were faraway. He was still recovering from the shock of dispatching Deathscythe less than three hours earlier. The added stress of Chief Haro’s news wasn’t helping.

“We should have been there.” Bakunetsumaru was looking at his feet in shame. He was sitting in his chair on the bridge, having distanced himself once the bad news began to flow. He felt guilty. They all did. They had their own mission to deal with an entire world away, but the fact remained that Neotopia needed the Gundam Force and they were _gone_.

As Chief Haro started to give directions to Captain about analyzing data from the Neotopia attack, Shute found that he couldn’t take it. For a multitude of reasons, he felt like the world was going to give out from underneath him. Neotopia had been attacked. His mother and sister were assaulted. Commander Sazabi had been probably mortally wounded doing _their_ job. Shute felt nauseous and the world was turning on its axis around him. He walked out of the room as calmly as he could, then broke into a sprint when he was clear of the elevator. He rushed to the nearest bathroom and puked up what little food he had in his stomach. 

He spent the rest of the afternoon crying.

**ii**

Shute Amuro Ray, the oldest of two children and a beloved son, was eleven years old when the world almost ended.

Well, _almost_ was debatable. From the moment Commander Sazabi declared himself the undisputed Master of Neotopia, Shute _knew_ that they would still somehow win. They had to! With friends like Captain, Bakunetsumaru, and Zero by his side, the probability of the Dark Axis conquering Neotopia was zero percent! The Commander never stood a chance: especially when they finally got Captain’s souldrive back. For every hiccup they encountered trying to deflect the Dark Axis’ cruel hold, they were finally able to send the Bad Guys packing. They _won_ , and Neotopia was saved thanks to the efforts of the Gundam Force.

Then the second leg of Shute’s adventure began. Neotopia may have been preserved from its invaders, but Lacroa and Ark were still in terrible danger. Zero and Bakunetsumaru helped to protect _his_ home, so it was only natural that he and his best friend Captain do the same. They outfitted the _Magna Musai_ into the _Gundam Musai,_ took the Zakorello Gate for their own use, and left to stop the Dark Axis once and for all.

Except the second he was gone, his mom went and did _The Thing_.

To be fair, Shute didn’t think that his family could get into that much trouble while he was gone. In fact, _he_ was the one that usually got into trouble. Between accidently getting involved in interdimensional wars between alien robots and occasionally forgetting to do his homework, Shute was used to being The Menace of the Ray household. Dad was a reserved musician, Mom was a relatively traditional schoolteacher, and Nana was... well, how much trouble could a baby even _get_ in? _She_ certainly wasn’t dealing with murderous Axians on a daily basis. When he left to embark on his adventure, he expected things to finally be normal at home. No more unexpected Daishoguns commandeering his shed, no more feather dragons setting cakes on fire, no more random gunhorses attempting to devour his mother’s flowers...

His family was going to be just fine without him. Normal. Quiet. _Safe_.

Then his mother, the least likely candidate to do anything _insane_ in their family, marched straight into the Troublemaker Spotlight dragging Commander Freaking Sazabi behind her. The Thing.

(In hindsight, now Shute knew which of his parents he inherited his level of robot-based decision making skills from. He just wished his mother had better tastes.)

“You _what!?”_ Shute stared at the image of his mother on the holo-display, fisting his hair in horror. It hurt, so he couldn’t have been dreaming. That made The Thing even worse. This wasn’t a dream. It was a living _nightmare_. “You _did WHAT!?”_

“You’ve asked the same question twice, Shute,” Captain said, holding a rice ball out to him. It was one of the large deformed ones, which held frightening implications. The Gundam was surprisingly calm. “You should give your mother the chance to respond.”

 _“Thank you, Captain,”_ Keiko said. She looked at her son seriously, one hand on her cocked hip and the other holding Nana. His baby sister was swiping her hands in front of her energetically, trying to grab Shute’s hologram with joyful glee. _“And yes, Commander Sazabi is staying with us now. He’s grounded at the moment, so he’s not allowed to play video games or have console privileges. I’ll make sure he doesn’t go into your room, if that’s what you’re worried about.”_

“Oh my god.” Shute could actually feel the color draining from his face, if that were at all possible. It felt cold and tingly. Was this what a heart attack felt like? Could someone his age even _have_ a heart attack? “Oh my _god_.”

“You’re repeating again, Shute,” Captain said. He held the deformed rice ball out a little further, trying to coax his friend. “Do you want one? You have not refueled yet.”

“Uhh, _Captain?”_ Bakunetsumaru was standing further back with one of the plates of rice balls that had come through. He was holding it at an arm’s length from him, and Zero was sure to keep his distance as well. The smaller rice balls on the tray were fine (delicious looking), but the ominously large and menacing ones were a different story. There was no denying who was forced to make them. “Are you sure that’s... safe to eat?”

Captain tilted his head at the other mech, curious. Either he really was clueless or was trying to downplay the situation. Shute couldn’t tell. He was too preoccupied to get a proper read on his best friend. “My scanners do not detect anything wrong with the rice balls. Do you think they were damaged coming through the dimensional transport, Bakunetsumaru?”

“Well, _no_ , I mean...” Bakunetsumaru fumbled and looked at Zero to come to his rescue. His expression was pleading. This whole exchange was awkward enough.

The Winged Knight was quick to pick up where the poor Blazing Samurai left off. For all the times they fought, this was something they could readily agree on. “What we _mean_ to say is that... don’t rice balls contain the love and respect of whoever made them? Shouldn’t we be... _concerned?”_

Captain didn’t answer for a few seconds. He looked down at the extra rice ball in his hand – the one not offered to Shute – and seemed to mull the silent warning over. Maybe it finally got through to him that the rice balls wouldn’t be safe to eat. Good. Hopefully Captain would be able to help him talk some sense into his mother—

Captain took an unrestrained bite out of the Commander’s rice ball.

Bakunetsumaru let out a shrill yelp and flinched backwards. Zero made a strangled gasp and actually covered his face. Shute couldn’t resist shouting himself, taking a step back from Captain in mixed disgust and terror.

“It tastes fine to me,” Captain said, finally swallowing.

“Hey! Let me try!” Genkimaru finally emerged from whatever hiding spot he had taken to since the hologram came up. He leapt up and snatched the extra rice ball that Captain had offered. Shute would have been upset if it was any other food item, but for now he was willing to make an exception. The sparkling shoved the whole thing into his mouth at once, started to aggressively chew... and then slowed down. He swallowed and stood perfectly still. His expression sank from a mischievous grin into an emotionless stare.

“Genkimaru?” Bakunetsumaru set his plate down, sounding concerned. “Are you...?”

“I’m not hungry anymore,” Genkimaru said softly, finally forcing himself to swallow. The effort looked borderline painful, and Genkimaru was never _not_ hungry. The sparkling didn’t hesitate to make himself scarce as he fled the room.

“Made from love and respect,” Zero said in muted horror, looking at one of the large rice balls he had picked up out of curiosity. He dropped it back onto the plate and held his hands up defensively, as if the rogue onigiri was going to lunge upwards and attack him.

“I thought it was fine,” Captain said, defensive. Shute could tell he meant it. Maybe his metal stomach was built stronger than the rest of them. Either way, the boy made a note to check on Captain periodically for the rest of the day in case something ruptured. “Please give our regards to the Commander, Mrs. Ray.”

_“I’ll be sure to let him know. Or you can tell him yourself, if you want to. He seems pretty self-conscious that they came out lumpy.”_

“That may not be a good idea,” Captain said. “He’s still grounded.”

Keiko started laughing. It came straight from her gut and made Shute realize just how much he _missed_ her. The conversation shifted as more supplies were phased through the now (seemingly) stable transport device. It was still too risky to try sending a living being back to Neotopia, but RAIMI was still working on simulations to try and get them to Lacroa anyways. They couldn’t give up on their mission, after all.

On the other hand, it had been three weeks and Shute missed his family with the kind of homesickness that couldn’t be easily ignored. He wanted to play with his little sister. He wanted to go on a long car ride with his dad. He wanted to hug his mom.

But Sazabi was at home too, Shute thought. He couldn’t stomach _any_ of the rice balls after that thought.

**iii**

The Minov Boundary Sea was equal parts beautiful and mysterious.

Zero seemed to look on it with disdain and terror. He would frequently recite old Lacroan legends about astray magic spells that spilled into its empty abyss and swallowed casters whole. Bakunetsumaru was clearly intimidated. He tried not to acknowledge it for the most part, either taken aback by its vastness or afraid he would never make it back to Ark, but Shute could see straight through his facade to his discomfort . Captain’s opinion of it was geared more towards curiosity than dread. Genkimaru was oblivious.

But Shute? He thought it was stunning. The way the dimensional walls rippled like the ocean, the clouds that swirled like in Neotopia on a summer afternoon, the way the air smelled like the forest after a spring rain... if they weren’t on an important mission and perpetually always _trapped_ when they were in the Minov, he might have enjoyed staying there. At least for a vacation.

But he missed home. Then again, maybe it was for the best he wasn’t there right now. They were still rebuilding the kitchen and front atrium.

Aside from being stuck in the Minov, the only other true “con” was the fact that it was always _light_ out. RAIMI still couldn’t determine what the light source was, either. Maybe it was from the energy illuminating the dimensional borders, but there was no discernable radiation emitting on her scanners. Shute’s room could be darkened to let him stay on his circadian rhythm, but part of him – fueled by raw instinct – kept him awake that particular “night.” He got up, got fully dressed, and headed for the bridge. He needed someone to talk to.

The lights were dimmed when he walked in. Captain hadn’t moved from his spot for several hours now, watching the video logs that Chief Haro sent him the day before. His optics honed in on the footage in deep concentration. It was Captain’s job as a “superior defender” in the Force to analyze such data for future reference, and it didn’t matter that he was in another dimension: he had a responsibility to commit to.

“You should be sleeping,” Captain said, not looking away from the screen. Of course he heard him come in. Nothing got past the Captain.

Shute made his way towards where his friend was seated. The Princess Rose, still encased in preserving magic and on the shelf behind the GP-01, cast a faint glow rivaled only by the light of the video display. Shute was sure to check it over before sitting down beside his friend at the main controls. Past the dimmed bay windows, the Minov was a slowly swirling mass that went on forever. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me either,” Captain said, which surprised him. His tone was tense. Shute looked at the video and frowned, realizing it had been paused at some point after he entered. The screen showed Doga Bombers swarming high above Neotopia through the view of an upturned traffic-cam, a familiar streak of red blurred amidst the chaos. When Captain spoke again, he had reined in his codec to sound more like his normal self. He was fighting to continue hiding his emotions. “I have been... analyzing the data from the most recent attack on Neotopia. You probably don’t want to see it.”

Shute thought maybe he did, then thought better of it. “Is it bad?”

“Yes.” Captain finally turned to look at him, his optics zeroed in on his own gaze. “I do not want you to see.”

Shute and Captain, so far into their friendship, had shared almost everything. Their time with each other, their hopes, their ambition to stop the Dark Axis once and for all... nothing was kept in the dark between them, but things were _different_ now. The game had changed from the moment they returned from Lacroa and called the SDG for an update. Captain was more rocked to the core now than he had ever been - even when the Commander stole his souldrive.

“I bet they got into Neotopia using Deathscythe’s magic,” Shute said accusingly, turning his attention back to the screen. “I mean. Without the Zakorello Gate, that’s the only way they _could_ have gotten in, right? The Dark Axis has done it before. Remember when Talgeese and his goons came after Fenn? There was also the time the Daishogun showed up, but that was... something else. I don’t think he uses Mana.”

“It’s true that Mana cannot be detected with our standard equipment in the SDG, and I do not think the Daishogun of Perfect Virtue would help the Dark Axis. Deathscythe _was_ the most likely culprit. Now that he has been neutralized, there should be no further assaults on Neotopia.”

“Is that Sazabi up there?” Shute pointed at the red dot on the screen. “I know you said you don’t want me to see—”

“No, this is fine.” Captain moved his hands over the keypad and typed something. The high-definition recording squared off a section of video before zooming in. The quality readjusted to the new view-setting, showing a visible image of Sazabi dodging fire between two Doga Bombers. Shute was shocked at how he looked, and not just because of his lack of ornate decorations. His armor was visibly damaged from a combination of laserfire and bullets, and it was a miracle his flight equipment hadn’t been hit in the chaos (or that the SDG had returned his flight equipment back to him in the first place).

(But if he _hadn’t_ been able to fly...)

“He saved my mom and sister,” Shute mused out loud to himself. He still couldn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth, honestly. The sentence sounded foreign to him.

“He may have saved the entire city, Shute,” Captain said. His tone was almost grave. “The sole survivor from the Axian invasion party disclosed that there were other targets for assassination. Commander Sazabi was their primary goal, but they anticipated to dispatch him quickly. They knew he was unarmed.”

“He didn’t have any weapons,” Shute echoed, filling in the gap himself. “They were watching my house and knew _everything._ They waited for him to leave so they could...”

Shute couldn’t finish. Captain, sensing his friend’s anxiety, came to his rescue. “The Commander had non-artillery combat experience. By distracting the Dark Axis long enough, he was able to seize and disable their leader. The invading soldiers had no choice but to eliminate themselves without further direction, unable to carry out the appurtenant objective.”

It finally occurred to Shute how bad – _really_ bad – an attempt to carry out that “appurtenant objective” would have been. In his own experience fighting the Dark Axis, there were often many times where Zapper Zaku and the others couldn’t tell the difference between him and other humans. Just like Zakos looked the same to him, humans looked the same to _them_. If there had been human assassination targets...

The implication was horrifying.

“They wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between the humans they were going after,” Shute said. He groaned as he said it, feeling his guts twisting as it sank in. And to think he had originally come to see Captain for some comfort. “They would have just... gone to where they lived and opened fire on everyone.”

“Per the I.D. card scans collected at Neotopia Tower, there were approximately one thousand, five hundred, and eighty-four humans working in the government sector at the time of the attack. An attempt to assassinate Mayor Gathermoon would have resulted in fifteen hundred deaths.” Captain opened up another window, keying something in. His fingers moved too fast to keep track. Several names, addresses, and numbers came up and lined parallel with each other. A spreadsheet? “Kao Lyn was also listed as a target. He has an apartment in the south residential district with over two thousand other civilians in a six-mile radius. Bellwood owns a studio less than a mile from a major shopping center. Juli lives with her spouse in a house four miles from a large college campus and adjacent elementary school.”

Shute stared at him. “How many—?”

“Accounting all the other names on the list, the lowest possible death toll accounting for a fifty percent margin of error, and crossfire casualties was fifteen thousand, eight hundred, and seventy-two civilians. Eighty-seven percent of that number is humans. A margin of error was factored in for mobile-citizens caught in the crossfire, although no robots were actually listed as targets.”

Shute felt something in him snap. It was an angry kind of snap, but he felt _cold_. His skin broke out into goosebumps and the hair on the back of his neck stood up on end. “How did the Dark Axis even learn about all those people? We never revealed anything during missions—”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, Shute.” Captain zoomed in on a series of names, many of whom Shute didn’t recognize. A separate column had their ages listed too, and he was shocked to see how _young_ some of them were. Heck, one of the names was listed as being fourteen. That was a whole year younger than Bellwood, and Shute distinctly remembered being told that he was the youngest kid in the SDG. What was this _other_ boy doing on the list? Captain continued. “Approximately sixty-four percent of the names mentioned by the Doga Bomber were _not_ SDG staff. At least, not currently.”

“Not currently?”

“Yes. Many of these people are still in the education system. The SDG has them on a watch list to possibly be hired.”

Shute stared at Captain. “I don’t get it. If they’re not in the SDG _now_ , what’s the point in trying to hurt them?”

“I spent quite some time trying to figure that out, Shute,” Captain said. “After running several checks on the younger citizen’s student transcripts, I found that the common factor between all of them is their scientific and mathematical background. I also discovered that they had been previously put on an SDG watchlist so they could be hired for a future project.”

“What project was that?” Shute leaned in closer, looking at the Gundam critically. This was serious now: if the Dark Axis had this kind of information, it meant that there was a _leak_ in their own ranks. How else could they have gotten such private information? Had Blanc Base been bugged during the Big Zam attack? Maybe Cobramaru had left some spy-device behind when he was on his mission to sever the base’s suspension junction.

Whatever this secret project was, it had to have been important: especially if the Dark Axis was going after people who weren’t even _in_ the Super Dimensional Guard.

“The Spacebridge Project.”

Shute blinked. “I have no idea what that means.”

“You shouldn’t. It is a top-secret experiment not slated to begin construction until Neotopia Century 0299.”

“Geez, that’s _really_ long time away!” Shute had to take a second to do the math in his head. He was going to be twenty-four by then! “What the heck even _is_ a space bridge?”

The Gundam locked his jaw. Shute could tell by the way it clicked, and it was something Captain did when he was apprehensive about something. He had been around him for long enough to pick up on it. “You are a member of the Gundam Force, and a special member nonetheless...”

“See? You can tell me.”

“Don’t tell anyone I told you.”

“We’re best friends, Captain. You can trust me.”

This was all the affirmation that the leader of the Gundam Force needed. “Do you remember how humans got to the current planet Neotopia is on?”

“Well I don’t remember personally, I wasn’t _alive_.” Shute shrugged. “When my great-whatever grandparents left Earth hundreds of years ago, they got on a giant spaceship and went into hyper-sleep. Then they sort of floated off until they woke up at a planet they were pre-programmed to reach. That ended up being Neotopia.”

“But Shute, if they had simply _floated_ off, the humans on that ship would have all died.”

“Huh?”

“The planet where Neotopia is stationed is approximately ten million, four hundred, and ninety-seven lightyears away from any _possible_ sustainable star system where Earth may have been. If a space-carrier with approximately thirty-thousand humans inside had attempted to reach Neotopia without a transwarp drive, the ship would have run out of fuel at the end of the first thousand years.” As if to emphasize his point, Captain brought up another program on he screen. It was a calculator. He rapidly entered in some numbers and Shute felt like his head was going to explode just looking at them. He appreciated Captain trying to help him follow his logic, though. “The humans on board would have died of power failure and asphyxiation within the following thirty years, give or take what power reserves were actually on board.”

That was morbid, Shute thought. “Yikes. But what the heck is a transwarp drive?”

“It’s the technology used to jump through hyperspace,” Captain said. He paused and looked around, finally honing in on a single object. It was a piece of sandwich paper that had come from one of the food items sent earlier through the transporter. Captain picked it up, poked two holes in it several inches apart, and then folded the paper in half. Despite the distance between them, folding the paper allowed the holes to line up perfectly. “A transwarp drive bends space and time around it, just like this. By folding the space between two points, an object can be forced through the alignment and end up at the second point instantly. Instead of a one thousand year trip, the ship’s transwarp device allowed the humans to travel the distance one thousand years in approximately one point four minutes.”

Shute whistled. “That sounds intense. It sounds almost like a black hole!”

“Yes, Shute. Except rather than being crushed by the gravitational pull of a black hole past the event horizon, a transwarp drive allows someone to safely pass through to the other side.”

Shute held his hand out. Captain handed him the paper and the boy tried straightening and bending it repeatedly.

The GP-01 continued. “Transwarp drives require no fuel and recharge automatically after each use. The act of activating any transwarp device _alone_ will cause it to retain the charge necessary for use. Humankind was able to repeatedly leap through space over the course of five hundred years this way, putting as much distance between them and from Earth as possible. The transwarp drives used by the ship were thought to be destroyed by the founders of Neotopia to prevent humankind from returning to Earth, but the SDG found a surviving driver. It was also found with my souldrive.”

Shute appreciated the history lesson, as well as the shocking origin story for his best friend’s mysterious hardware. So it was _ancient_ human-tech. It still didn’t explain where Sazabi got his own, but that was a series of questions for another day. He crumpled the paper and pocketed it to throw away later. “Alright, so the transwarp drive lets you jump through space to get as far and fast from your starting point as possible. What’s important about the spacebridge project?”

“While there are no plans to try and find Earth, Neotopia is a planet with finite resources. We are also unaware if any other human colonies survived the exodus.”

“Ooh, okay! So The SDG wants to explore other planets to either find resources or other humans!” Shute grinned, excitement swelling up in him. Could there really be other Neotopias just like theirs waiting to be found? The thought was equally humbling and exhilarating. The thrill of the revelation died moments later as the context behind their entire conversation swelled back to the surface: dark and ugly, like an encroaching storm cloud. The boy’s face fell. “Why would the Dark Axis want to stop it? If the project is going to be started so far off in the future...”

“We don’t know.” Captain exited out of the windows and moved back to the video display screen. He looked frustrated as he moved the zoom feature away from Sazabi and panned over a group of Doga Bombers to—

“Zako Red?” Shute shuddered. “That flight array doesn’t look very stable.”

“It was cannibalized from a Doga Bomber,” Captain said. “The prisoner who the SDG captured said that their commanding officer used Zako Red as a proxy. Their actual leader was still in the Dark Axis and is therefore still a liable threat.”

“Sazabi beat the bad guy when he wasn’t really there _to_ beat,” Shute mused. It was an upsetting thought. Although Sazabi prevented more deaths by eliminating Zako Red, he had sacrificed himself to _remove_ an obstacle and not actually eliminate it. “I didn’t think anyone else was higher up in the Dark Axis than the Commander...”

“The mech’s only known alias is Professor Gerbera.” Captain Gundam said it coldly, his expression hard. He looked worried. “He is the chief sciences officer and second-in-command to the entire Dark Axis army.”

The room felt _too_ cold. Shute stared at the image on the screen trying to discern that the mech who attacked his home was still alive and loose. Sazabi was different – they had been able to stop him and put him in a position where he couldn’t hurt anyone, but Gerbera was still _out there_ _._

That, and there was the other part of all this: the unspoken worry slowly creeping up to sink its claws into them.

“Second-in-command,” Shute said softly. “So who’s _his_ boss?”

“The General,” Captain Gundam said, and for the first time since their friendship began, he refused to say more.

**iv**

“Yes, I know of the General.” Relejimana Miya du Lacroa had her hands clasped in front of her delicately, staring out into the Minov through the large bay window that was framed by the hallway wall. Shute waited for her to say more, but she didn’t.

The princess – the _true_ princess – was still a bit of an enigma to him. Shute couldn’t help but feel awkward speaking to her. How was it that a disguised-rose replica enthralled by someone as cruel as Deathscythe could be so much... nicer? Than the real princess? Rose had been talkative and extremely friendly, always willing to entertain him in a conversation about even the most mundane things. She cared enough to listen to him go on about Neotopia and the Gundam Force for house on end, but the real Princess Rele was her opposite. She was distant and seemed a little too chilled for holding a friendly conversation. Unless it was about snow or ice cubes, but that was probably taking the metaphor a little too far.

Then again, she had been a stone statue for two years. Maybe he just had to give her a chance to thaw.

(Urgh, that was still a bad metaphor. Wait for her to soften up? No wait, shoot, _that_ was just flat out insensitive.) 

“Okay... but can you _share_ anything about him? I mean...” Shute tried to peer up at her face, but she was standing so closely to the window that trying to talk to her rather than _at_ her was difficult. “If we’re going to save Lacroa and Ark, the Gundam Force could use as much information as we can get our hands on! Anything about the General would help us a lot—”

“A young boy such as yourself shouldn’t be concerned with such adult topics,” Princess Rele said.

“First of all, we’re pretty much the same age.” Shute couldn’t help but feel indigent. He was a member of the Gundam Force as much as anyone else, and she was – well – a civilian! “I’m a member of the Force like Zero. Please princess, the fate of my own world could depend on it. If we want to take the fight to the Dark Axis, we need to know all we can.”

“You are not like any boy I have ever met,” Princess Rele said. She glanced sideways at him before going back to watching the Minov pass them by. The _Gundam Musai_ passed through a cloud, obscuring their view of the starboard facing dimensional barrier. “You should be hiding in fear of the Dark Axis rather than trying to face them. Taking them on is a job tasked for Gundams, not _children_.”

“Again, just pointing this out casually, but we’re the same age.” He paused. “Wait. How old are you anyways?”

He forgot the rule that you weren’t supposed to ask girls about their age. The last time he tried that with Sayla, she clocked him over the head with her umbrella (she explained afterward that she was bending down to pick up a shiny coin leftover from when physical money was a staple currency, but the timing was too convenient and she wouldn’t show him the coin). Rele turned her head to glare at him. Shute immediately put some space between them, hoping he wasn’t going to be zapped into a dress or something embarrassing like that.

“Nevermind, forget I said anything—”

“I just turned thirteen,” she said. Her voice was gentler now, as was her expression. She looked less like rigid royalty and more like a girl he might pass on the sidewalk in Neotopia. “My birthday was a month before the invasion on Lacroa.”

“So was mine,” Shute said. He treaded carefully, knowing how sore this topic had become. He got close to her again, taking to looking out the large window himself. He tried to peer down as far as he could, but all that existed below the ship was the bottomless ravine of the rift. “It was just a few weeks later when the Dark Axis attacked _my_ world. We had to fight long and hard for a day and a half before we beat Commander Sazabi.”

Rele said nothing. When he looked back up at her, she was staring at him with a strange look.

“A day and a half,” she echoed, expressionless.

“Yeah. They were attacking Neotopia on and off again for almost a whole year, but the _big_ part of their invasion...” Shute trailed off, realizing his error.

“Ah. I see.” Rele went back to watching the clouds float by. “The Dark Axis attacked Lacroa periodically over the course of two and a half years. The final part of the invasion where they came in force lasted seven days.”

Shute winced. “I’m sorry.”

“The _Black Musai_ was the name of the vessel that came through the skyward gate that day.” The princess was speaking much more quietly now, reflective. It echoed with the horrors he was already familiar with, but Lacroa had no Captain Gundam to come to their rescue. Mana could only do so much to protect them, and the medieval kingdom was no match for the brute weaponry held by the Axians. “It was commanded by a powerful warlord, a ruthless machine by the name Nightingale.”

The name was not familiar and had horrifying connotations. “The Dark Axis has more than one Commander?”

“They have many, according to the Wise Men of Mana.” Rele exhaled deeply. Shute realized she was composing herself. “The Royal Family was able to discern quite a lot about the Dark Axis through our great sorcerers. A Dark Axis commander would be selected to cull a specific world based on their skillsets. If Nightingale had failed, a Commander Krieger would have been sent in her place. If he were to fail, another commander would replace _him_. Even if we cut off the head of the dragon, they were simply too well prepared to deal with their own losses. We were not. It was information we neglected to share with the Royal Knights, as such a burden would have... impeded them.”

The silent words hung menacingly. They would have lost hope for victory had they known.

“Commander Nightingale was a brutal taskmaster, but her men were loyal. They followed her whims and bombarded what little of our kingdom avoided petrification. Even until their dying breaths, her squadron leaders who were once a mere inconvenience fought to the bitter end. The mech on _this_ ship, Grappler Gouf, was among them. His cowardice in the face of death allowed him to survive, but a deep part of me wishes we had followed his example. We lost many good Knight Gundams. Too many. When my father was petrified and I was forced to call a retreat, it was too late to turn the odds in our favor. Our home was in shambles, my people were gone, and the spirits of my Gundams were broken.”

She hesitated. Shute was tempted to tell her to stop – for her own sake – but he was far too engrossed. Her voice was haunting.

Neotopia had been lucky. The Dark Axis had brought them to their knees, but they had survived the killing blow with a strike of good luck. Lacroa had not been so fortunate. It had been utterly slaughtered.

“Rele...” Shute’s mouth was dry.

“No. You insisted on getting answers, and so I _must_ tell you. Despite your age you _are_ a member of the Gundam Force.” Rele wrung her gloved hands anxiously. Her resolve was breaking, or was she simply no longer able to disguise how broken she truly was? “The Traitor Knight, Deathscythe, had an unseen cohort. This companion was even more dangerous than Lord Talgeese, the Knight of Tempest, and the Storm Twins, Vayeate and Mercurius. This ally was above even Commander Nightingale, who was merely the _conductor_ in a symphony of chaos. This entity was known only to the sages as Professor Gerbera, and even _he_ had his superior.”

Her voice grew in volume. Shute felt his spirit cower.

“Nightingale was the head of the dragon,” Rele said gravely. “Deathscythe, _Deed_ , was the maw. Talgeese, Vayeate, and Mercurius were the flames. The squadron leaders were the snapping tail. The Dogas and Zakos were the claws. But Professor Gerbera was the _heart_ of the beast. He was the monster that pumped blood into the veins of the war machine that is the Dark Axis.”

She reached up to cover her mouth, staring through the glass. That was when Shute realized that the princess had never been staring at the dimensional wall. No longer a statue, her mind was able to visualize the fields of dead Gundams made prey that once made up her grand army. Even two years after the fires had gone out, she was still able to see her beautiful home burning.

“You asked me if I knew of the General,” Princess Rele said, her voice choked. Her eyes were brimming with tears. “Did you still want to know?”

Shute said nothing. He couldn’t.

Relejimana Miya du Lacroa did not wait for his reply. Her voice was choked. “General Zeong is the spirit of the dragon. And as you already know, spirits cannot ever be killed.”

**v**

Commander Sazabi had nearly died saving his family.

It was a gross thought. Not because it was _Commander Sazabi_ , but because the need to save them had ever existed at all. Shute thought they were protected when he left. That was why he left in the first place: they were safe from the clutches of the Dark Axis, but his friends’ homes were not. He could afford to leave them.

When his mother did The Thing and brought Sazabi into their home, Shute was furious. On one hand, his mother was putting herself and the rest of the family in danger, and Shute could not be there to save them in case something went _wrong_. Except nothing actually _did_ go wrong (at least not in the way he expected), and Shute was left with his own confusion.

It wasn’t the narrative he imagined, and therefore it was the narrative that made the least sense to him.

The last conversation he had with his mother before Epyon appeared and dragged them off to Lacroa was a strange one. In their previous phone call, she was complaining about how _difficult_ Commander Sazabi could be. If he wasn’t trying to run away and locking up on the highway during rush hour ( _that_ must have been a sight to see), he was throwing tantrums about doing Shute’s designated chores around the house. Shute knew that the Commander would have tried to kill her a few times, but she insisted that he didn’t. That was how Shute knew for a fact he _had_.

The conversation they had after that was its opposite. _“Sazabi ended up weeding the entire garden and now I have room to buy some extra plants. I was thinking about getting some in red so he’ll want to help me plant. He helped make dinner the other night, too. He still hasn’t asked for fuel yet, but I’m starting to wonder if he’d be willing to try some of my cooking. Definitely a little on the overzealous side when he came to taking off the salmon’s head, but practice makes perfect. He’s gotten the hand of folding laundry, too.”_

“Mom,” Shute said, staring at her image on the screen. “ _Mom_.”

“Repeating, Shute.” Captain either had awesome hearing or was eavesdropping from his designated chair on the bridge. Shute swore he heard him chuckle. Definitely eavesdropping, then.

Keiko either didn’t hear or was ignoring him. _“Nana likes him a_ lot _. She actually said her third word the other day. It was_ zabi! _Can you believe it? The Commander has you beat, sweetie.”_

“Are you feeling okay, mom?” Shute meant it. The situation wouldn’t merit from him pointing out that _zabi_ wasn’t a word, but there was something else wrong here. He couldn’t flat out say it withing risking a reprimand, but he had to make her see somehow.

 _“Oh?”_ She cocked her head. _“What do you mean, Shute?”_

“I thought Sazabi was being a pain in the butt.” This wasn’t going to be easy. He started tapping his foot anxiously. “Sounds to me like you _like_ having him around, now.”

 _“He’s making an effort, even if it’s a little slow on the uptake.”_ She smiled brightly. It was painfully genuine. Agonizing.

It left Shute with an extremely too-real dilemma: that Commander Sazabi, the mech so cruel he could never have any friends, had somehow managed to make a friend out of his own mother. Had his dad fallen for it, too? Nah, there was no way. But his mother wasn’t an idiot, and the implications behind Sazabi suddenly having the capacity to be _likeable_ was disturbing. Either he was an excellent actor...

Or Shute had been wrong about him. Which had awful implications of its own.

“Knock his block off!” That had been what Shute cheered to Captain Gundam during the fateful battle for Neotopia. He meant what he said, too. There was no denying he was disappointed when Captain _hadn’t_ killed the Commander that day. At first he was _sure_ he had (he could have sworn he saw the flash of the destroyed souldrive, the echoed death throe, the explosion that ripped Sazabi and the Horn of War to pieces), but yet the Commander lived. Shute was confused. Then he was angry. He asked Captain why when they were reunited on the adjacent pillar of Neotopia Tower.

“Because it felt wrong,” Captain said. He was still holding the Commander’s black souldrive. The energy within was opaque with inky darkness, but it was no longer turbulent or chaotic. Shute was so mad, he was tempted to reach out and smash it himself.

“Even after everything horrible he did?” Shute was trying to reason with Captain just as much as himself. On one hand, he _knew_ Captain did the right thing. That was the part that hurt the most. Sparing Sazabi so he could be brought to justice _was_ the correct thing to do, but Shute was still angry. Sazabi tried to hurt his friends, his _best_ friend, and even his own mother and sister. He deserved more than whatever prison the SDG could conjure for him. Shute was so smitten with rage, he wasn’t afraid to admit it anymore: he wished Captain had killed him.

Captain Gundam had no answer for him. He continued to keep the black souldrive close, protecting it from further harm.

Shute didn’t want to believe that Sazabi could be redeemed. _Couldn’t_ believe.

He wasn’t a boy genius for no reason. He knew his way around computers just as well as he knew his way around his own workshop. It took some tweaking and distracting RAIMI (she couldn’t watch the _entire_ ship, so bribing Genkimaru to go on a “fun” little errand to keep her distracted was a lifesaver), but he was able to fish for copies of the files that Chief Haro sent.

He saw his house burning when the SDG operatives arrived with their bodycams. He saw his mother and listened to her screaming hysterically about losing Nana until Guneagle arrived, delivering the crying baby and announcing that Sazabi had saved her. He watched video recordings of Sazabi flying over the city, seizing Zako Red, and disappearing into the sky before a comet streaked overhead. He watched the Doga Bombers kill themselves by bombarding the city below. He heard the screams that rose over the sirens from a video feed showing Neotopia city from a distance. He watched video recordings of when they found Sazabi embedded in the hillside, twisted and unrecognizable. He watched the footage of his arrival at Blanc Base and the traumatic surgery to salvage what was left. He looked at over three hundred photographs until his tears blinded him.

Sazabi had nearly died saving his family. He _was_ going to die.

Shute had never felt so bad for being so _wrong_.

**vi**

“I’m not a fan of puppeteers,” Shute said gravely, staring down into the abyss. Captain Gundam’s footfalls were distinct behind him.

The Gundam vented heavily. It was his version of a sigh. “So we are in agreement, then?”

“I’d sure say so.”

Shute was sitting on the edge of the _Gundam Musai’s_ port bow, watching as the Minov passed beneath them for eternity. Captain must have seen him from the security cameras and come out to see what his friend was doing. Then again, he must have known that Shute had come out to clear his head. The Gundam made no move to touch him or offer comfort. He knew it wasn’t going to help.

“Commander Sazabi didn’t just betray the Dark Axis,” Captain Gundam said. “He stood up to them, specifically _Gerbera_.”

“Sazabi was Gerbera’s puppet,” Shute said. “But Gerbera still isn’t the leader of the Dark Axis. Princess Rele said he was only the second-in-command. Someone _else_ is pulling at all the strings, and that’s General Zeong. Whoever or _whatever_ he is.”

“Whatever?”

“Remember when we got stuck in the Dark Axis base? Back when the Zakorello Gate malfunctioned? It was right before we ended up in the Minov.”

“Yes.” Captain did sit next to him now, looking into the dimensional rift’s chasm below. “Are you thinking...?”

“We all recognized Deathscythe. Baku recognized Kibaomaru. But that orange Axian was someone new. I bet _that_ was Gerbera. And the thing behind him...”

“It would make sense for the underlings of the General to assemble around him for a meeting,” Captain said. The GP-01 finally sat down beside him, looking down to try and scan past the horizon below. The ship passed through a cloud then, sending a fine mist spilling around them. Captain’s energy bloomed through the thick fog to reveal to Shute that he was still there. “Especially considering his sheer size. He did not appear to be mobile.”

“I don’t like this Captain,” Shute said. He felt himself start to shake, and not from the cool condensation of the cloud. As they exited the fog and the world cleared, he couldn’t stop the tremor that was working its way up his spine. “This is bigger than we thought. Rele acted like the General was some kind of _god_.”

“We’ll get through it.”

Shute felt a hand on his shoulder. Captain’s energy was still burning next to him - had his souldrive activated? Shute didn’t bother to check: of course it had. He sighed and looked up. The gorge below was identical to the rip in space above, endless and bright.

“Captain?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you let Sazabi live. I’m sorry I doubted you. I think I was wrong about him.”

Captain Gundam squeezed his shoulder and said nothing.

**vii**

Were they General Zeong’s prey alone, or just another stepping stone for taking back some metaphorical throne?

They were sure as hell going to find out.


	9. Keiko Ray: ACT II

**I have changed just like you.**

**Your concrete heart isn’t beating,**

**and you tried to make it come alive.**

**Covered up with a smile I’ve learned to fear.**

**Come fire, let it burn and love come racing through.**

**No shadows, just red lights,**

**now I’m here to rescue you.**

_Still Alive_  – Lisa Miskovsky

**i**

Keiko Ray was the kind of teacher who wasn’t bound to a particular subject.

While most teachers got their licenses under a specific field, Keiko went to school to enroll in all the basics. She took multiple math classes, language courses, writing seminars... It was hard work, but her extended effort in college paid off in leaps and bounds. Having the ability to fluctuate between materials made her an expert multitasker, too. She started her career by teaching first-grade but was free to move to a higher level (with much more attentive students) when there was a demand for a new seventh-grade history teacher. She was the only person in the department who was properly certified.

It was like her grandfather used to say. In her youth, she would spent hours with him in his glass shop while he shifted between various projects. Grandpa Abe would make marbles for her in his free time, but he also made glass figures and worked on stained glass commissions. He was very good at what he did, but she had still seen far more impressive pieces in museums. When she asked him why he didn’t just focus on  _one_ particular kind of glasswork to get good at, he laughed and handed her his newest batch of marbles.  _”Jack of all trades, master of none, is oftentimes better than master of one!”_

Now that she was a senior teacher with tenure in her department, Keiko had first pick when it came to selecting classes. She taught fifth grade writing during the previous semester (which was unfortunate for Shute since since he was in her essay-composition course) and had no set homeroom. This meant she often traveled to different classrooms to teach some seventy-odd students throughout the day, leaving her to share desks and often use the teacher-lounge as a makeshift office. Over the summer, she volunteered to tutor students needing extra help in history and proctored dozens of math placement exams. Even after attendance dropped when parents discovered a certain robot was living in her house, she was again allowed her pick for the upcoming school year. As much as she loved teaching fifth-grade writing, she chose to have a stationary third-grade classroom this time around. She would have to cover all the basics herself, but that was hardly a con when she had her level of experience. Jack of all trades.

Before she even had a set curriculum in place, she knew reading was going to be one of her favorite topics. As summer vacation marched on, she would often sort through Neotopia’s database of digital books in-between her tutoring sessions. Keiko wanted to find something  _good_ to use for her students’ first written project. Something that wasn’t too one-dimensional or boring. Something that her students could put a real effort into understanding.

Vaguely, as a lazy summer-evening afterthought, she wondered if she should write a book about Sazabi. It definitely wouldn’t be material suited for her students, but it  _would_ be interesting. The Commander had certainly proved himself to be far from the one-dimensional character she thought he was.

Speaking of which...

Her thoughts were disturbed by the lack of activity actually distracting her. The house had been quiet all day. Too quiet. While the household activity was still fairly  _normal_ with Mark working in his studio and Nana watching cutesy educational programs, the most recent edition to their family had been missing in action. Grading math tests wasn’t necessarily hard, but keeping up with certain household chores  _was_. Chores that had been given to Sazabi specifically. As good of a multitasker as she was... she caught herself halfway through dusting and realized that she had asked the Commander to do this task the day before. The GPS tracker she had on her phone indicated that he was still in the house at least (thank god, she didn’t think she could deal with another roadside fiasco), but for the Commander to not come out of his room  _all day_...

She was getting worried. Was already worried.

To be fair, she had noticed a slow shift in his behavior throughout the week. He was almost always looking for a place to refuel now, though she continued refusing to tell him where the stores were. It was too dangerous to let him know where it all was at once, but that had hardly been her motivation to keep from telling him. She was still holding out for a “please” of some kind. That wasn’t the end of it, either: she had caught him spacing out more than once during mundane tasks, slowing down during others that used to take him half the time, doing chores sloppily...

Keiko walked up the stairs and turned down hallway where the Commander’s bedroom was. Downstairs in the living room, Nana squealed at something she saw on-screen and audibly flailed one of her toys. Good. So long as she was distracted, Keiko could properly investigate the Commander’s prolonged absence. Light filtered through the window at the end of the corridor in a blaze of orange-yellow. The door with its slightly (extremely) abused frame and knob stood out in this kind of light. She hesitated and listened through the door. Nothing.

She was a multitasker. She was a jack of all trades. But something about this - her dealings with the Commander - was always going to be as alien to her as  _he_ was.

She rapped her knuckles on the wood. “Sazabi? Are you awake?”

Silence. She was going to knock again when a response finally drifted through the barrier.

“Unfortunately,” Sazabi said. He genuinely sounded disappointed. Exhausted. For someone who hadn’t done anything all day...

Keiko didn’t hesitate, but something in her gut wrenched. Did he not feel well? She knew that he utterly despised being told what to do, but he was no different from some of her more unrulier students. They  _hated_ being bored. Sazabi may have loathed housework with a murderous passion, but not having  _something_ to do would just make him angrier. It certainly explained why his essays could be so violent. Was he feeling sick? Could robots even get sick? Captain seemed to when he was in her yard once, but that may have just been a ruse to get Shute away so they could go on one of their missions... The mother of two (three) tried to keep her tone as upbeat as possible. “Oh! Good. I was hoping you could lend me a hand.”

“Forget it,” Sazabi said. His voice was deflated.

Now she  _knew_ she had reason to be worried. The usual piss and vinegar in his dialect was gone. Something was wrong.

“Sazabi, are you all right?” Keiko leaned against the door, pressing her ear to the smooth paneling to try and listen. She couldn’t hear his engine humming. “Please, I want to help you.”

“Help me? Help! Ha!”  _Now_  she could hear his engine. It abruptly sped with a high RPM in too low of a gear, snarling with the ferocity of a furious animal. It was a display of power for an otherwise caged beast: futile in both execution and exhibition. Sazabi’s voice was just as easily broken when he next spoke. “Keiko, I have lost. There is nothing more for me. You prolong an extended mockery of my existence. I will never be ‘all right.’”

Keiko felt her body grow warm. It wasn’t a nice kind of heat. Her chest grew tight at the realization - implication - of what he had just said. “Is that… is that how you really feel?”

“I don’t know,” Sazabi snarled. He was even quieter now. His engine had stopped accelerating and the world around them was completely silent. “What do you think, you worthless bug?”

She stood there for a long time. As the heat subsided and found itself replaced by the sensation of  _ice_ in her chest, she fully came to terms with what she was processing. Was he...  _depressed?_  Was  _that_  what was wrong? Keiko had to think long and hard about how to approach this. She was a schoolteacher and a multitasker, but this wasn’t something she thought she would face when she took him on. Was it physically possible for a robot to be depressed?

She was worried.

She was also  _mad_.

The anger was less derived from her experiences as a mother and schoolteacher. It came from her brain as she realized this was  _Commander Sazabi_ saying these things. As much as she pitied him sometimes, he was an adult. He knew the difference between right from wrong in its most basic concepts. Being depressed on a clinical level was one thing, but being depressed about losing an invasion that actually  _hurt_ people was another. Keiko took a gamble and assumed it was the latter. She could reinforce his good behavior, but this was something she couldn’t let slide. Not like this.

“You listen to me, Sazabi,” Keiko demanded firmly. She pulled back from the door slightly, focusing on projecting her voice through the wood. “From where I was standing, your former ‘existence’ wasn’t exactly great. If this mocks it, it serves you right!”

“ _Silence_.” She supposed Sazabi meant to bark that last remark. It came out as a wheeze. She didn’t think he was aware of how pathetic he sounded.

“So maybe you lost. You didn’t die. But many other people did. And here you are sitting around sorry for yourself when you’re alive and well. Nobody you killed is around to do that.” The anger swelling inside of her burned hot. She couldn’t  _help_  but be angry. Sazabi was well and alive while so many others hadn’t survived his invasion. He was alive in a home where he wasn’t locked up for his crimes and people

_cared about him now._

Sazabi didn’t answer.

“I heard you up on that tower like everybody else, and you were so happy to say that we should be your slaves. And you know— I know you do—! That what’s happened to you now isn’t a fraction as bad. But you’re a sore loser who can’t stand up to even a little bit of the threats he makes.”

Sazabi opened his door. She never even heard him get up or felt the floor shift underneath from his weight. He had to stoop under the clearance with his helm bowed. Without that barrier between them, his misery was palpable in the air. It almost eclipsed her anger. His optic passed over her angrily but there was something else unbidden beneath the surface. Anxiety for engaging her? Grief at his own fall from power?

Part of her still hated him after all the things he had done. Part of her hated him  _adamantly_. He shot at her son and tried to hurt everyone she ever loved. He was going to take her world and crush it underfoot, grinding his heel to draw out the pain for fun. She was as much part of the lynch mob as anyone when she took him into her home, but she was a multitasker. She was a  _teacher_. She was going to show him exactly what he did wrong and make him suffer on  _her_ terms. The lynch mob that showed up on her lawn that day was nothing compared to the rage she could have exerted on the Commander first hand... but as she came back to reality, Keiko knew that part of her - any ounce of  _real_ hatred - had been snuffed just as much as the Commander’s own sense of worth.

He snarled at her. His optic was angry and suffering. He had been wounded long before she ever lectured him through the door that night. “All right. You want your slave? You have him. What’s your wish?”

With the anger gone, her heart broke. It broke for  _him_. When she gave him the task to wash the windows, she waited for him to disappear down the stairs before leaning on the wall and slumping down to the carpet. She held her hands over her face sat there for a very long time. The clock down the hallway chimed. Downstairs, Nanako started to cry. The sun bled through the windows until night descended, swallowing all of them whole.

**ii**

Keiko woke up to the sound of bells and soft whining.

Her brain was on autopilot as she lurched her arm towards the sound, still half asleep and coming to the realization that she wasn’t immediately sure where she was. She blinked blearily into the darkness and tried to discern her surroundings. Her vision adjusted and revealed an overly ornate light fixture above the bed, unfamiliar framed photographs on the walls, distressed furniture to give it the appeal of being antique... the smell of unnatural air fresheners and lingering  _perfume_ solidified her surroundings as she finally found her phone. The bells she heard had been her ringtone. The whining was Nanako fussing in an unusual tone in her crib. The place was Mark’s parent’s house. Christ, was she going to have to take another shower when she got up for work. The too-sweet smell clung to her like a second skin.  _Fancy by Lalah_ was going to be especially difficult to remove.

Keiko pulled her phone to her and looked at the screen. She had missed the call by less than a few seconds. Her wallpaper glowed in her face as an unfriendly reminder to her current existence. Commander Sazabi was holding her daughter in one hand and a steak in the other.

The clock read four thirty-one in the morning.

Keiko groaned and hit the redial button. She pulled the phone to her ear and listened to the faint buzz as it reconnected. It rang only once.

“Mrs. Ray?”

She had been expecting the school principal. Maybe they were going to ask her to come in early to review her lesson plans and meet with the substitute. Even though it was a new school year, Keiko had been gone for so long - three whole weeks - that she still hadn’t even met her new third-grade class. Student orientation had been two days after Sazabi crashed into the hill. When she found she couldn’t recognize the voice, her heart started to pound. Who was calling at  _this_  hour? “Hello?”

“I’m so sorry for calling this early, but you instructed us to call you whenever something happened.” The voice was hesitant. She sounded afraid.

Keiko pulled her phone away from her ear and looked at the screen.

_Blanc Base._

Keiko shot up. The wooden bedframe squealed and Mark woke up with a grunt next to her. She could see his own phone lighting up on the nightstand, but it was silenced – was he getting the same call? Her voice came out louder than she wanted. “What happened?”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Ray.” The woman on the other line was speaking even softer, or maybe it was the rushing in Keiko’s ears that was drowning her out. “Commander Sazabi passed away this morning.”

Keiko flung her phone across the room as if it had burned her – and it practically had. The velocity was so fast and so  _hard_ that it struck a lamp on the dresser and kept going, finally colliding with the back wall as the shade bowled over. It fell to the ground and the ceramic base shattered. Nanako immediately started screaming from her crib in the corner. Mark shot up into a sitting position and grabbed her arm, trying to reign her in. He already knew.

“Keiko—” He grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her close. His grip was so strong that it was almost  _crushing_. “It’s okay. He’s not suffering—”

But Keiko was suffering, just like Sazabi had suffered in his room that day. She suffered long and hard, burying her face in her hands and  _screaming_.

**iii**

For a second time, Sazabi did not stay dead for long.

It was five forty-seven when they finally arrived at Blanc Base. The morning was overcast and cold with the near arrival of autumn, but the sunrise was at least stunning through the bay windows of the gunperry. Orange light leapt over the clouds and painted the silvery sky with streaks of red. Keiko would have appreciated it more if she didn’t have a pounding headache. And to think she had been hoping to have a good night sleep before school started... Mark kept asking her if she wanted to call and take a sick day, but she refused. Her students needed her.

Sazabi needed her now, too. Why else would the SDG have insisted she come?

As the gunperry breached the final layer of cloud cover and circled Blanc Base, Keiko noticed a lone shape by the launch pad. Keiko fully recognized the doctor once completely descended. Dr. Keene’s hair was done in a messy bun and her lab-scrubs were unkempt. She looked like she had a rough night, too.

“I’m so sorry for this,” the surgeon said when they were finally clear inside Blanc Base. Her tone was severely apologetic, and for good reason. The last time Keiko had seen her, it hadn’t been under nice circumstances. This was just as awkward for Keene as it was for Keiko, it seemed. “You get the second call?”

Keiko nodded. She adjusted her heavy sweater as they walked into a large reception atrium. There was no one else in sight. Either the base remained understaffed at night, or the night crew was getting ready for the morning shift change. Keiko vaguely wondered if she was going to have time to change before  _she_ had to go to work. Showering at this point was out of the question, too. And she was aware she still smelled like perfume. Urgh. “We did. What happened?”

Dr. Keene pinched her temples. There were dark circles forming under her eyes, testament to the surgeon’s frustrations. “He died and came back, same as last time. Dying and being revived is one thing, but dying and reviving  _yourself?_ We spent fifteen minutes trying to bring him back, eventually called it, disengaged life support... and then he started fighting to restart an engine that wasn’t even there half an hour later. We don’t know how to explain it. Some of the nurses think it might have to do with the souldrive, but without a sufficient power source to feed his entire body...”

“Sazabi is a menace even when he’s in a coma.” Mark put his hands on his head, exasperated. “So wait, is he using the souldrive as a makeshift—”

“Battery? We have no idea, but that may be the case. We know so little about the souldrive’s functionality in Captain Gundam already. Applying the same knowledge to Sazabi’s souldrive has been useless.” They rounded a corner and headed down a corridor that Keiko did not recognize. When the SDG called the Rays to come to Blanc Base, she thought it was to see Sazabi. But this wasn’t the way to the hospital wing that she remembered. Where were they going? She would have asked, but Keene continued. “It’s ancient tech we barely understand, but it  _is_ possible that he’s delegated it to act as an emergency power source. The external engine that we had him hooked to had some maintenance done on it yesterday. Initially there were no adverse reactions, but then...”

“There was the incident this morning,” Keiko finished.

“The temporary lapse in power supplied to him from the maintenance period may have caused his life support to lag. His souldrive may have had a hand in bringing him back, just like the first time when we couldn’t revive him ourselves. It’s never actually turned itself off in his whole time being here. It runs independant from the power we give him. We’ve hooked Sazabi up to a second engine to give his body extra juice though, if that’s comforting.” Despite her words, Dr. Keene did not look comforted. She abruptly stopped walking and turned around to face Keiko, a hard look on her face. “Again, I cannot apologize enough. Both for this time and last time.”

Keiko was confused. “Why are you apologizing for last time?”

“I told you Commander Sazabi was dead,” Keene said. “And one of my nurses told you he was dead again this morning. We can’t keep doing this to you. It’s not fair.”

“That’s not  _your_  fault.” Keiko frowned. As awkward as it initially was for her to be with Dr. Keene again, the schoolteacher knew it was never the doctor’s fault for what happened weeks earlier. The surgeon had every obligation to inform her about Sazabi’s condition at the time. “The nurse that worked with you said that Sazabi’s functions restarted after. He really  _was_...”

She didn’t dare say  _dead_.

(Don’t ever think  _die_.)

Keiko swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “You were doing your job.”

“I know, but I took a Hippocratic stance not to cause harm to others - including the family of my patients. I caused you unnecessary grief. I should have waited to see if the Commander would reboot, which he did. We should have done the same this time.”

“Please don’t be so hard on yourself,” Mark said. He offered a hesitant smile. “I mean, you guys up here are doing the best you can for him, right? It’s not like you ever had the chance to treat Axians before.”

Keiko would have added to her husband’s words of reassurance, but his phone started ringing for the umpteenth time in the past hour. He had only answered one call since it first started going off (not long after Keiko’s call from Blanc Base, ironically), but had been doing fine to ignore the rest. He fumbled with the device, checked the screen, and then spared his wife a helpless glance.

“Bad timing,” he apologized. “I really have to take this, honey. Do you...?”

“I’ll be fine with Dr. Keene.” She kissed his husband on the cheek. “Go.”

Mark didn’t hesitate to distance himself from them. He answered his phone,  _loudly_  announced that he had bad reception, and made his way down the hallway in the opposite direction. He continually claimed the signal was still too poor until he disappeared around the corner. They were both having a rough morning, it seemed.

“Can I see Sazabi?” Keiko asked. She continued following Dr. Keene down the hallway. They took another turn and headed for an elevator. This definitely wasn’t the way to the Commander’s hospital room.

“In a little bit. I came to greet you myself for another reason. Chief Kao Lyn sent me.”

Keiko felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up: something that had happened far too frequently in the past few hours. It first happened when Nanako started to cry after the first call from Blanc Base. She screamed nonstop for a solid thirty minutes until she was blue in the face. Pamela was on the verge of her own breakdown demanding they take her to the hospital before she just... stopped. Less than a minute later, the second call had come in from Blanc Base informing them that Sazabi had revived. That was when they were asked to meet a gunperry at the nearest airpad. It happened again when she tried to turn on her phone and saw that the screen had been damaged. A sharp thunderbolt crack now cut through her wallpaper of Sazabi at the barbeque.

Now it was happening for a third time.

“Why.” It wasn’t a question.

Dr. Keene sighed. “You’re not going to believe this. Brace yourself. We have a custody battle on our hands.”

**iv**

The conference room, likely one of just several dozen within Blanc Base, had a circular table and warm atmosphere. It was smaller than Keiko thought necessary for a high-tech government organization.

The table itself was made from a dark wood and had a polished epoxy sheen on its surface, giving it an expensive hand-crafted aura. Her father - who was the artsy type just like her grandfather - would have been all over it. Regardless, the table and the entire room felt out of place for being in Blanc Base. The walls were a yellow-tan with tastefully spaced photographs of the city. Her mother was a photographer and would have been all over  _those_ , too. They were sepia toned to match the walls and the rest of the decor, showcasing various landmarks from Neotopia’s colony surface. The floor was a dark hardwood that matched the conference table. It smelled like George Ray’s study without the hint of pipe smoke. Keiko felt like she had stepped into a whole new world.

Several seats were already occupied when she and Dr. Keene entered the space. The elevator ride had taken them to one of the highest levels of the base, and every room they passed since then appeared to be executive offices. When her vision adjusted to the warm lighting, she recognized Kao Lyn immediately. Bellwood, Mayor Margaret, Prio, Leonardo, and Juli were also present. There were also people she had never seen before, too. There was a smallish woman (a nurse?) chatting quietly with Juli in the corner. A large man in a poorly fitted suit was sitting across from Kao Lyn, and he looked  _furious_. Next to him was a blonde man with an equally displeased expression, also in a lab coat identical to Dr. Keene’s. Another surgeon?

As soon as Keiko was clear through the doorway, Kao Lyn spotted her and shot up. “My dear, it’s so good to see you! Please, pick a seat and sit down!”

“Wait a second— who is  _this?”_  The large man sitting across from Kao Lyn stood up, glaring at Keiko behind his too-small spectacles. It made his face look too swollen for the rest of his body. His cheeks puffed. “This isn’t some civilian address! You can’t just invite—”

“It’s six ‘o clock in the freakin’ morning, dude. Considering  _you’re_  the one that dragged us all out of bed, I think Kao Lyn can invite whoever he wants to.” Bellwood looked particularly aggravated. Was... was he still in his pajamas? Yes he was, and they were onesies. “Hell, I ought to call my parents up and have them bring donuts and coffee. I call dibs on the ones with frosting.”

“You drink coffee?” The blonde man next to Spectacles made a face. “Aren’t you a little young? What even are you,  _twelve?”_

“Fifteen and a half, and I take my coffee black like my soul.”

“So do I, punk.”

“I thought dogs couldn’t  _have_ coffee.” Bellwood jerked his thumb across the table towards Spectacles. “I mean, you  _are_  Dr. Walker’s lapdog, aren’t you?”

Keiko didn’t care much for the abuse being thrown by someone not much older than Shute. But when Blondie shot up to confront Bellwood with a furious sneer  _and his hand raised_ , she almost shouted. Keene beat her to the punch and immediately advanced, pointing accusingly at her fellow doctor with a snarl. “Sit your ass down, Reichold.  _Now_.”

“Please get along, everyone.” Mayor Margaret was looking increasingly distressed. Despite the early hour, her hair and makeup were done impeccably. But no amount of makeup could cover just how  _worried_ she looked. Keiko recognized it as the same expression she wore during the invasion. The mayor looked to Keiko and smiled sheepishly in an attempt to disguise her concern, gesturing to the empty seat beside her. “Keiko, it’s so good to see you again. I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“What  _is_ all this?” Keiko sat down and spared another look around the table. Spectacles – Dr. Walker – and Dr. Reinhold were sitting next to another woman Keiko hadn’t initially noticed. She was in a black pantsuit with her hair cropped in a very strict bob. The cut looked fresh. She was holding a datapad and already typing away, never once looking at Keiko. To her right were the mayor’s aides, Prio and Leonardo. Prio was looking at Pantsuit with a lingering expression of horror while Leonardo anxiously tapped his digits on the tabletop.

There was the sound of hydraulics hissing. At the head of the room, an adjacent door slid open and Chief Haro stepped out. He was the best kept of all of them, his uniform fresh pressed and his ornaments polished. “That, Mrs. Ray, is yet to be decided. Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I trust everyone had at least  _half_ a decent night’s rest.”

“You’re  _late_ , Chief Haro,” Dr. Walker stood up stiffly, looking rather annoyed behind his tiny glasses. “We’ve already been here for an hour.”

“When we could still be in bed,” Bellwood snarked, arms crossed. No one paid attention to him.

“Not all of us had the benefit of being on-site this morning, doctor.” Chief Haro sat down at the head of the table. “We also had to wait for the woman of the hour to arrive.”

“Woman of the...?” Dr. Walker looked at Keiko and made a face. As Juli and the nurse finally took their places at the table (they were the only two left standing when Chief Haro arrived), the large doctor looked... troubled. “This civilian?”

“Dr. Walker, this is Keiko Ray.” Mayor Margaret spoke up quickly, her tone swift and defensive. Keiko appreciated the other woman’s immediate jump to defend her. Evidently, their comradery hadn’t ended on Neotopia Tower during the invasion. “She’s the one who took in Commander Sazabi after your department’s attempts to reprogram him were... unsuccessful.”

Pantsuit looked up. She stared at Keiko with an expression that was scalding. Keiko met her gaze and expected the woman to avert her sights, but she didn’t. Her glare intensified.

“Perhaps full department introductions are in order,” Chief Haro said. He paused, looking at the woman in the pantsuit. He must have seen her glaring, because he cleared his throat and Pantsuit finally looked away. “This meeting was made under an emergency motion with no official rooster sent out. I believe it would benefit everyone if proper introductions were made.”

Pantsuit looked up at him, narrowed her eyes, and said nothing. It was not a friendly expression.

“Chief Kao Shi Lyn, at your service.” Kao Lyn was quick to stand, immediately setting a professional standard. He made eye contact with Dr. Walker behind his taijitu-glasses and  _also_ appeared to be glaring. As warm as the conference room’s decor was, the growing level of animosity between certain parties at present was clear. Dr. Walker and Dr. Kao Lyn just so happened to be one of them. “I run the Automaton Social Relations department and act as the head Project Gundam. I also run the Automaton Medical Board for Blanc Base.”

“Omar Bellwood.” The boy pouted. “Handsome Scientific Genius Extraordinaire?”

Kao Lyn turned to look at him as he sat back down. Keiko recognized it as the same look she sometimes gave her students. Or Shute, when he was being especially cheeky and knew better.

The teen sighed. “Fine, fine... I’m the head of the Dimensional Research Committee and inventor of the SDG’s dimensional transport device. I’m an apprentice for Kao Lyn, too. I helped build some of the Gundams. Captain was all his, though. And Guneagle. I won’t risk taking credit for that.”

Next in the seating lineup, Juli sighed and shot a menacing look at Pantsuit. Another level of hostility was set, but Pantsuit did not seem interested in returning the gesture (she was back to typing on her datapad). The grey haired SDG officer scowled. “Julia Petrov. SDG communications.”

“Catherine Hodges, MNP,” the nurse in attendance said. Hodges paused. “That stands for Mechanic Nurse Practitioner. I was the lead nurse assigned to the Commander’s surgical case and am currently in charge of staffing and monitoring his care.”

“Dr. Elizabeth Keene.” The surgeon in question flared her nostrils as she spoke. She shot a look across the table at Reichold. Keiko noted her enmity. “I’m  _the_ senior mechanic surgeon specialist for the SDG. I performed Commander Sazabi’s emergency surgery under his Black Directive  _Fallen Eagle_. Hodges specifically reports to me for Sazabi’s care.”

It was Keiko’s turn. She cleared her throat. “Keiko Ray. Commander Sazabi was placed into my care under house arrest after the invasion.”

Again, Pantsuit looked up to glare at her. Prio’s expression kept changing, too. He as looking more and more upset, specifically at Pantsuit’s presence beside him.

“Mayor Margaret Gathermoon. I’m the mayor of Neotopia.” The mayor’s face flushed red. “Well. I suppose all of you already knew that. This is embarrassing.”

“Unfortunate,” Pantsuit said.

Now it was Leonardo’s turn to look upset. The decorated GM turned in his seat to stare at the offending woman, flashing his visor in what may have been a show of aggression. “Leonardo. Senior aide to Mayor Margaret. And it would do you well to show some  _respect_ , ma’am.”

“Prio Collins.” The tall redhead looked like he was going to faint. His voice squeaked pathetically. “I’m also one of the mayor’s aides.”

“ _Molly Thatcher._ ” Pantsuit’s voice was cold. “I’m the currently elected representative to the Personhood Preservation Society of Neotopia. And I will show respect to people to  _deserve_ it. Sympathizers to  _murderers_ are barely people to begin with.”

“Speaking of which, how’s your mom doing?” Bellwood leaned forward in his chair, pretending to be interested in the sleeve of his onesie. He picked at it but kept his voice loud in a blatant taunt. “You know. Since she’s not here and your club still hasn’t posted any interesting videos yet, she must not be doing that great. She could’ve murdered that guy and you still seem pretty sympathetic towards  _her_. Says a lot about your own personhood, huh?”

“Monique Thatcher is currently on  _probation_  for her actions in the botched interrogation. The PPSN will release the footage on its own time after a proper investigation has been executed. And to be clear, you can’t murder a machine.”

Kao Lyn made a sound between a wheeze and a hiss. From what Keiko could see, the old man was coiled like a spring and ready to lash out. How he kept himself in his seat, Keiko had no idea. Now it made sense why Molly hated her.

“Clock’s tickin’ lady.” Bellwood’s tone was scathing. He was trying not to give her the satisfaction of gaining a reaction, but it was clear her comment disturbed him too. “If you don’t release it,  _we_ will.”

Chief Haro held his hand up. “Enough.”

“Dr. Alexander Reichold. I’m a senior surgical specialist like Dr. Keene.” Reichold leaned back in his chair and shot an angry look towards the aforementioned woman in question. At least the brewing hatred between him and Keene appeared to be mutual.

“Dr. Nicholas Walker.” The man in question readjusted his glasses. He was averting Kao Lyn’s aggressive stare. If there  _was_ a rivalry between them, it appeared to be much more one-sided than Keiko thought. “I’m a mech-psychiatrist and the Department Head of Robo House and its colony-side operations at Site H.”

“Chief Haro, leader of the Super Dimensional Guard and president of its operations.” The SDG chief sat himself back down. “Dr. Viola Perez is still in a medically induced coma after her car accident, so she will not be present today. Now onto business... I believe a conversation needs to be had about Commander Sazabi.”

Dr. Walker didn’t waste his breath. He pushed his glasses onto his face and puffed his cheeks. “I want life-support functions pulled and for the remains to be sent to Robo House for mech-mortem—”

Chief Haro didn’t waste his own breath, either. “Absolutely not.”

Keiko felt her skin break out into gooseflesh. Any warmth hat had been in the room not already snuffed by the hateful relationships brewing was sucked dry instantly.  _”What?”_

“Oh  _come_  now, Chief Haro!” Dr. Walker either didn’t hear her or completely ignored her horrified question. He leaned on the table as he shot back up into a standing position, his large belly bumping into it and causing the table to rock. The people on the opposite side had to reach down and brace themselves as it shifted towards them. Hodges squeaked in surprise. Bellwood was almost bowled clear over because his chair had already been too close. The teen managed to behave himself and not to start a fuss. Or maybe the psychiatrist’s outburst had simply caught him too off-guard to make a witty response. Walker continued, unfazed. “The Commander is  _braindead_. It’s nothing more than a waste of resources trying to keep the Axian alive.”

“That’s not entirely correct.” Hodges, who had been so soft-spoken before in her introduction, was now speaking with a loud and clear voice. All eyes shifted to her and she was fast to hold her ground. She plucked up the datapad that was in front of her, drawing her finger across the screen to bring up a display. Keiko couldn’t see what it was. “Both his backup engines are powered by solar panels on the outside of the base. The panels get charged from the sun, cables feed into the base to his room, and the engines are able to work that way. Using regular fuel would just fill the room with fumes.”

Walker sputtered. “Well, yes, but..!”

“And the the Commander  _does_ have some internal activity without outside intervention. His souldrive is working fine without any third-party manipulation whatsoever.” Hodges messed with something on her tablet and then turned it around, letting the occupants of the table see. It was a looped recording of a very familiar device. Sazabi’s souldrive had a distinct “film” floating inside the glass chamber, but for the most part, it was clear and bright with a  _large_ flame. “It’s quick to activate at random intervals, even without a processor or external power source to guide it. It most likely played a role in bringing him back this morning. So long as he has the energy to fight for his life, my nurses and I keep supporting him.”

“That’s not the point Walker was  _making_ , Cathy. Sazabi has no higher processor function,” Reichold said. He was looking at Keene with a condescending sneer. “Even if he’s rebuilt - even if his souldrive is throwing a light show - there’s nothing  _in_  there. Anything that made Sazabi  _Sazabi_ is gone. The shell is a husk. One light might still be on, but no one coming home.”

“That’s where you may be wrong, my boy!” Kao Lyn folded his hands in front of him. The old man’s voice was chipper and enthusiastic, but the way he was looking at Reichold over his glasses indicated rising contempt. “The surviving board in his processor  _may_ contain backup modules for his memory.”

“Christ, you and I  _both_ know that memory drives can’t be stored on basic boards.” Reichold looked annoyed. “Let it go, old man. Sazabi is  _gone_.”

“You and I  _also_ know that we’re not familiar with Axian technology. Backup memories could’ve been stored  _anywhere_ with the right level of engineering.” Kao Lyn snorted. “Unfortunately, since we were never able to get our hands on  _intact_ destroyed members of the Dark Axis, a proper analysis of their CPUs has been impossible.”

“Until now, since we  _have_  a dead Axian.”

“A coma isn’t  _death_ , Alex!” Dr. Keene looked appalled. She couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. She slapped the table for emphasis. “By god, you took the Hippocratic Oath! You can’t just turn around and suggest we cannibalize a still-living person for their parts! Even if they are in a coma, it’s not for us to decide. Sazabi has a legal guardian. She’s in the room  _with_ us. Even then, Sazabi has died twice  _and has come back_. Pulling him off life support and letting him just die isn’t an option. Not unless you purposely wring the life out of him after he tries another self-revival. Show some decency!”

Alexander Reichold’s expression shifted into an ugly snarl. He leaned over the table and jabbed his finger in the other surgeon’s direction. He was on the offense. “I took the Oath to be a professional on behalf of  _humans,_  not to be some over-glorified version of a grease monkey!”

Keene recoiled.  _”How dare you!”_

“You are out of line!” Kao Lyn was the one who shot up now, actually removing his glasses. Keiko had never seen his eyes before, but they were grey and hard and  _livid_. “Mobile citizens are  _full_  citizens, not just a car than can be left in the hands of an untrained professional! For you to even suggest—”

“Oh for the love of— this thing we’re arguing over is a goddamn  _alien_. It’s not a citizen, it’s a walking  _gun!_ Guns are not  _fucking_ citizens! Arguing about keeping that monster alive is like debating whether we should let a fire in the room full of grenades keep burning—”

Keiko felt tingly. It was a strange feeling to describe. Her fingers ached. Her skin itched. She felt like sweating but still somehow wanted to warm herself up. It took her a second to realize it was the same sensation she got back when Sazabi refused to come out of his room that day. She looked across the table at Chief Haro and he was staring straight back at her. She couldn’t hope to read his expression with the blank mask, but she knew he was looking at her. As soon as their gazes crossed (at least she  _thought_  they did?), he stood up and slammed his fist on the table. The wood caved and  _splintered_.

The room fell into silence. Everyone stared in terror, including Keiko.

Reichold looked down at the ruined table and swore, reeling back. “Holy fuck.  _Holy_ fuck.”

“ _Enough_.” The SDG chief sat back down. The dent did not go away - no one had imagined it. “Dr. Keene and Dr. Kao Lyn are correct. Taking the Commander off life support and attempting for force his expiration for the sake of Robo House completing  _unnecessary_  research is out of the question. This is especially prudent when Sazabi simply continues to revive himself. And Sazabi’s fate is not for us to decide. Keiko  _is_ his guardian. Any decisions relating to his well being are legally hers, and hers alone.”

Molly Thatcher shook. Her eyes darted between the crater in the conference table in the shape of Haro’s fist to Keiko. She looked angry, upset, and terrified all at once.

“Unnecessary!?” Now it was Dr. Walker’s turn to look appalled. In spite of the intense display by Chief Haro, his attentions were shifted. “Outrageous! We are in the middle of a  _war_  and have no clear psychological understanding of the enemy!”

“Robo House couldn’t even reprogram  _three_  Axians,” Bellwood said. “What the heck makes you think you can just look at an Axian brain – a  _damaged_  Axian brain, by the way, that consists of just  _one freakin’ board_ – and just maaagically discover all their secrets.”

Dr, Walker balked. “I— why you  _insufferable_  little boy, how dare...!”

He trailed off. The room was silent.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Bellwood said. Kao Lyn didn’t offer him a gesture of reprimand.

“At least Robo House wants to make an effort,” Reichold said. “At least we’re working on doing something that will  _maybe_ stop the Dark Axis. We can’t just rely on the Gundam Force to do everything for us. What if they fail? We’re relying on some kid, our own understated GP-01, and two interdimensional aliens to save the world with no backup plan. If they fail, we all risk  _dying.”_

 _“We?”_  Keene was back to sitting in her chair, but the look she was shooting Reichold was dangerous. At first Keiko thought the “we” had been in reference to the final part of Reichold’s tirade, but then... “You’re not a psychiatrist. You’re not even a psychologist. You’re an over-glorified grease monkey, just like me. What the hell are  _you_ trying to accomplish with Robo House?”

“Unlike  _you_ , Lizzie, I’m actually working to better myself.”

“Bullshit. I know you, Alex. You’re planning something. You don’t go out of your way for  _anything_ unless you can benefit from it somehow.  _What are you up to?”_

“Robo House is a prestigious establishment,” Dr. Walker said, immediately distracting from the conversation. Before Dr. Keene could shout at him for interrupting, he continued. “We’ve accomplished fantastic feats dealing with unwell, improperly programmed GMs during our undercover phase. We can achieve so much more if the SDG gives us a proper chance.”

“Undercover?” Keiko asked.

Mayor Margaret tapped her on the arm. She leaned toward her to whisper. When Keiko turned to look at her, she could see the other woman was very pale and sweating. This meeting was making her just as upset as Keiko.

“Robo House was  _my_  fault, I’m afraid,” she quietly admitted. I wanted Chief Haro to establish a reprogramming center for the Dark Axis, in case an invasion occurred and there were survivors. A test trial was put in place and mobile citizens with mental-health concerns were sent there for evaluation. It worked. All the GMs admitted were released in perfect health, but Kao Lyn  _warned_  me of the risks trying to force reprogram-therapy on non-willing participants. Commander Sazabi, Zapper Zaku, and that other poor mech were put through so much. The latter almost killed himself, the poor thing. The Axians just couldn’t be reprogrammed.”

Keiko nodded— then stopped.

“The other mech?” She paused. “The one that was taken as a prisoner-of-war last week? I thought the press conference said he was released?”

Mayor Margaret froze.

“—is an ugly scar in our very  _landscape_. That whole building should be condemned!” Kao Lyn had was visibly resisting the urge to shout. The usually friendly man was shaking in barely contained rage. “For a mobile citizen to give their consent for treatment is fine, but to force any mech or femme through reprogramming sessions is immoral! No self-respecting doctor would allow themselves to be involved in such a ludicrous practice!”

“I volunteered, on my own free time, to try and save humanity!” Dr. Walker was sounding more and more exasperated. He pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. The sweat beading on his face was causing them to slip. “And the therapy was  _almost_  successful! Patient Beta responded  _very_ well to the surround-screen chamber! After less than five sessions, he actually saved the daisy when it was knocked off the table!”

“Yeah, and three weeks later in the Minov, he attacked the Gundam Force with an army of mop wielding Zako soldiers. Zapper Zaku turned out to be a  _stellar_  patient. Slap that right on your resume, why don’t ya?” Bellwood, again, was not reprimanded. Kao Lyn was done trying to be polite and was fully ready to sic the mouthy teen on Walker. “He could be your reference when you start looking for a new job.”

The psychiatrist sputtered,  _pleading_. “A fluke, surely! Look! Patient Delta responded well to the treatment for an even longer period! That has to account for  _something!_ If only you would let me try to work with him again while that poor woman continues to recover from her injury—”

“That poor bastard tried to kill himself!” Bellwood made an inarticulate gesture with his hands. “Greaaat accomplishment there, buddy. I heard he was smashing his head so hard on the wall, he almost lost the  _rest_ of his vision.”

“And Commander Sazabi was a  _complete_ failure,” Kao Lyn said. “It’s possible that the Dark Axis robots were made to withstand any efforts of forced reprogramming. I’ll know more if I can get Tango to agree to an exploratory procedure to fully map an Axian processor. That way I can begin rebuilding Sazabi’s brain.”

“You— dear fucking god, she  _named_  that Axian? She’ll be sleeping with it next if...” Reichold stopped. Then he clasped his hands over his head. His eyes nearly bugged out of his skull.  _”You’re going to repair Commander Sazabi!?”_

Molly Thatcher was the one who shot up this time. Her voice was threatening and her shoulders shook. “You wouldn’t  _dare.”_

“My dear, I have already drafted my schematics and have the necessary parts needing replacement categorized! All I need is a proper reference for a processor and a set of restorable memory banks.”

Just as quickly as she sat up, Molly Thatcher went back down. Her chair popped and groaned with the force of her full weight coming back down. She was staring into space, not acknowledging anyone. She looked livid and lost, and poor Prio couldn’t take his eyes off her. He must have known her, Keiko realized. Leonardo put a hand on the young man’s arm and said nothing.

Keiko felt something – finally – spur with confidence inside her.

Hope.

They were going to rebuild Sazabi.

_They were going to rebuild Sazabi._

“This meeting was a waste of time, it seems,” Chief Haro said. He looked at Dr. Walker. “Are you satisfied, now?”

“Absolutely not!” Dr. Walker’s voice cracked.

In her brief moment of restored faith, Keiko’s mind cleared. Something inside her stirred as that moment of clarity washed over her. Something was still wrong. Something was standing  _out_. Keiko was good at multitasking, so it didn’t take long for the schoolteacher’s brain to grasp what had been out of place about the meeting. She stood up. The room was instantly quiet as all eyes gravitated towards her.

“Mrs. Ray?” Juli asked.

“I have a question,” Keiko announced.

“Yes?” Chief Haro squared his shoulders. He appeared to be bracing himself. Maybe he knew.

She hesitated. “You said there were three patients at Robo House. Yet the Doga recently mentioned on the news never  _went_ to Robo House. As far as I was aware, only Zapper Zaku and Commander Sazabi were at that facility. Who was the third?”

Again, the room was silent.

“Who was the third?” she asked again.

No one answered her.

**v**

Keiko was used to her classes being bare after she took in Commander Sazabi. As the news broke that he was living in her house, the flood of withdrawals immediately followed. Keiko’s summer-school history class went from twenty-one students to just six by the end of July. Eleven were reassigned to different teachers. Four had transferred from Sweetwater Elementary entirely. The fall-semester was no different. Her original roster of twenty children had dropped to five before summer vacation was even over.

The superintendent and school board were less than impressed. It was hardly a fineable offense ( _she_  hadn’t done anything wrong), but Keiko imagined they were going to write new rules about harboring murderous aliens in your home if you wanted to teach K-12.

Despite the early morning and the chaos at Blanc Base, she managed to get to the school on time. A direct flight from Blanc Base to the baseball field outside the gym was the fastest route. As happy as she was to be back, she was dreading to find out how unorganized the classroom had become in her absence... or how unused to her the children were going to be now the substitute would be gone. There was no time to rush back to Mark’s parents house to pick up the bulk of her teaching supplies left behind, so she was going to have to fudge her daily lesson plan on the fly. Juli had been nice enough to loan one of her wife’s suit jackets, though. That way Keiko could at least look like she hadn’t just rolled out of bed. The faint odor of Pam’s  _Fancy By Lalah_ was still present, though. She wondered if anyone at the Blanc Base meeting had noticed. Maybe Mayor Gathermoon.

The students were sure to ask plenty of questions. It was unavoidable. To them, she was the brand-new teacher who they had never met before. But their curiosity about her never stopped them from asking questions about Sazabi. If their parents had allowed them to stay, of  _course_ they were going to know about him. She shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Did the big robot in your house die?” Katie Reigns, a young girl from the outermost city district, said with such pointedness that it almost caught Keiko by surprise. Almost. From what she remembered from the brief meeting with the substitute, Katie was one of the more intelligent students in her circle. It was refreshing.

“No, Katie.” Keiko put her stylus down. Leave it to the children to start asking more questions as they were starting math. She should have known that trying to start her lesson without giving her students  _some_ background to her absence would be pointless. Their parents were the only people okay with someone like her still teaching their children, so they knew as much as their parents told them. But they wanted more. They were hungry for knowledge without even realizing. “Mr. Sazabi was hurt very bad, but he’s still alive. He’s in the hospital.”

Maxie Patterson’s hand shot up. Before Keiko could acknowledge him, he was running his mouth. “My dad said that the news said that the  _mayor_  said that he saved you and your baby, Mrs. Ray!”

“Are they going to fix him?” Thomas Griffin, a usually soft-spoken boy (unless it was about baseball), asked next. He was looking at her with an expression crossed between horror and awe. He had forgotten to take his cap off again. The substitute must have let him get away with it for the past few weeks. Urgh. That was going to be hard to undo. “Are they going to  _fix_  him?”

Annie Davis turned around and made a face at him. “No, Tommy! He did bad stuff too. They’re probably gonna let him die.”

“Let’s skip math for now,” Keiko said. This line of dialogue had gone on for too long and there was no proper redirect from something so serious. She clicked a button on the side of the blackboard. The computer in the frame saved what was written on the board so they could come back to it later, clearing the screen and leaving a clean slate. Keiko lifted her stylus and wrote on the board in bold letters: GOOD VS. BAD.

Katie cocked her head. “This isn’t on the schedule, Mrs. Ray.”

“I know, but this is important.” Keiko turned around and leaned on her desk tucked into the corner of the room, gesturing to the blackboard. “I should have started with this. What have your parents and adult family members told you about the attack on the city a few weeks ago?”

Annie was the first to speak up. She didn’t bother raising her hand. “The Dark Axis came back to Neotopia and tried to kill us!”

“Raise your hand, Annie!” Robin Long, Keiko’s fifth and final student, was visibly upset. She was done listening to her classmates speak out of turn.

Annie opened her mouth to retort.

“That’s enough, Ms. Davis. We raise our hands when we want to speak.” Keiko gestured to herself. “As you all know, something very bad happened to me and my family a few weeks ago that caused me to be absent from school. Mr. Sazabi’s boss, a  _very_  bad robot, came and burned down part of my house.”

“Principal Brown told us,” Robin said. She put a hand over her mouth when she realized  _she_ forgot to raise her hand, shooting her free arm up to make up for it. Annie was already laughing at her. Robin’s face turned red.

“Thank you, Robin. Please don’t be rude, Annie. Everyone makes mistakes.” Keiko said. She paused, holding onto those words as she said it:  _everyone makes mistakes._ Good. She could use that. “Now, Sazabi came not long after and got me out. He rescued me and then saved my baby, even though he’s done bad things too.”

She turned around and put the bulletins side-by-side. Under the Good category, she wrote  _saved Mrs. Ray and her baby from a fire._ Under the Bad category, she wrote  _was also a bad robot from the Dark Axis._

Tommy raised his hand. She gestured to him that he had her permission to speak. “You told us that Sazabi helped you do chores! That’s good, right? I help my mom and grandma all the time, too!”

“It is. Good job, Tommy.” She turned around and wrote  _helped with chores_ under the appropriate category.

Annie raised her hand again. This time she waited to be called on. “My best friend’s mom said that Sazabi  _killed_  people!”

“Don’t say that!” Robin looked aghast. “You can’t say that in school!”

“Kill isn’t a bad word!”

“Kids.” Keiko was sure to keep her voice warning. The last time she had used that voice had been with Sazabi, and the mere thought had her regret thinking of it. She wrote down  _hurt many people_ under the Bad subsection. “We’re even so far. What else?”

Another hand raised. This time it was Maxie. “Mr. Sazabi helped you garden one time! I was in your summer class, so I remember that! You told us!”

Keiko jotted the notes on the board.

Annie raised her hand again. “Sazabi turned people to stone.”

The exchange went back and forth for a few more minutes. Finally, the blackboard was filled with bullet points under both the Good and Bad columns. It was an equal number of bullet points.

Annie was not impressed with this display. She raised her hand but spoke before being called on. Her voice was twisted skeptically. “Why are we doing this, Mrs. Ray? Sazabi was one of the bad guys.”

“Yes he was. No one can deny that. Everyone makes mistakes.” Keiko turned around and smiled gingerly at her classroom. “But Sazabi did something to try and change that.”

The bell rang for lunch. More time had gone by than Keiko realized. She was going to be further behind in her lesson plan than she anticipated. She dismissed the children to go to lunch.

Three students lingered. Annie paused to look at the board with an unreadable expression before leading. Katie Reigns actually wrote the bullet points down in her Girl Scouts brand notepad before vacating the room. Tommy waited for everyone else to leave before timidly approaching the desk. “Mrs. Ray? What did Sazabi do exactly?”

She smiled. Thinking about it was making her heart break. “He made an effort.”

**vi**

It was a strange turn of events. The more Keiko thought about it, the more it ate at her.

Had her multitasking gotten in the way of understanding  _effort?_

Between her job as a teacher, raising Nanako, and dealing with Commander Sazabi, her resources were spread thin. This should have been understandable to anyone. Like the one-dimensional characters from books she didn’t want to subject her students to, Keiko was left with a certain view of the Commander on a daily basis. He was brash and sometimes downright  _mean_. When she took him in, part of it was for selfish gains. She wanted to punish him. She never imagined, in any light, that he would put effort into trying to function peacefully.

It had been a week since his final tantrum in the kitchen. The window was replaced and the Commander was still oddly quiet. It was also a week before her confrontation with him when he locked himself in his room. Currently, he hadn’t noticed the stack of metal bowls on the kitchen table until it was too late. Their collective  _clang_ as they struck the floor echoed throughout the entire house. Keiko jumped but had expected this: she could see the accident unfolding as the Axian’s huge body bumped the table with the bowls too close to the edge.

“Idiot,” he muttered, already bending down to pick them up. His optic was dull.

Keiko frowned. She watched him pluck up the first bowl and how he was careful not to grip with his full strength. She set down the plate she was about to put away from the dishwasher. “You’re not.”

“What?” Sazabi stood back up to his full height. That red optic flashed, but the color was still off somehow. Subdued. Washed out.

(wounded long before she even lectured him through the door)

“You say such awful things about yourself.” Keiko wanted to say more. As a teacher - a mother, a caretaker - she felt like she was obligated. But the words stayed in her throat and never surfaced.

“I was referring to  _you_ ,” he snapped, putting the bowls back on top of the table.  _That_ was notably forceful, but it was clear the Commander was scrambling to recover. He was aware that he had shot himself in the hand. “Leaving things lying around this way.”

He was lying. She knew it. They  _both_ knew it.

Robots could not be depressed, at least not in the clinical sense. As much as Robo House’s Dr. Walker wanted to dismantle the Commander, she imagined that this was an area that she and the psychiatrist  _could_ agree on. She wondered if Viola Perez would have had anything to add, too. Mecha processors were completely artificial. A human brain could produce an abundance of chemicals or a lack thereof leading to depression, but robots? They understood emotions. They understood sadness. But they couldn’t understand depression the way humans did.

In a way, that made Sazabi’s situation even worse. Because his depression couldn’t  _be_ blamed on a biological imperfection. He genuinely felt  _hopeless_ , on his own, without an excuse to distract from it.

But the Commander made the effort to be good despite all that. He played with Nana for hours on end, even when he initially expressed disdain for her. He offered to help around the house more. The effort he put in was substantially appreciated, but Keiko hadn’t given him the credit for it that he deserved. And he continued to suffer on his own.

“Help me? Help! Ha! Keiko, I have lost. There is nothing more for me. You prolong an extended mockery of my existence. I will never be ‘all right.’”

“Is that… is that how you really feel?”

“I don’t know. What do you think, you worthless bug?”

(wounded  _long_  before she even lectured him through the door)

It was a front she wished she had learned to fear. She could have done something to make him feel less hopeless. She could have done  _anything_. But she had been so busy trying to show him what he had done wrong, she never bothered to see what her own shortcomings were.

Everyone makes mistakes.

He made the effort.

She should have done the same.

**vii**

Five minutes before recess ended, she received a phone call. The vertical crack slashing across Sazabi’s image on the lockscreen was a shock to her: she had almost forgotten she had cracked it that morning. That was going to have to get fixed, soon. Seeing Sazabi’s image was bad enough without the crack cutting him through, but she didn’t ever want to change it. Her distraction led her to answer the phone without checking who the caller was.

“You’re about to receive  _extremely_  confidential information,” Chief Haro’s voice was hushed. “Are you someplace private?”

Keiko sputtered. She had immediately grabbed the nearest marker on her desk: the red one reserved for correcting assignments. She had a feeling she was going to be writing something down. “Yes. What happened?”

“Nothing, but you asked a question this morning at the meeting. We may be able to help one another out. Your experience dealing with the Commander may benefit both of us.”

Between having to shift her focus from Sazabi to doing her job, her memory failed her for a fraction of a second. Then she remembered.

“Three Axians were captured after the first invasion of Neotopia,” Chief Haro said. “Commander Sazabi was the first and renamed as Patient Alpha by Dr. Walker. Patient Beta was Lord Zapper Zaku. Patient Delta a was the third prisoner apprehended and admitted to participate in Robo House’s reprogram-therapy.”

Keiko froze. Without even being told, she knew exactly where this was going. “The third patient is still here in Neotopia.”

“Yes. The address is 223 Cottage Road in the outer east district. It’s an hour drive from the elementary school but if you can, please go.”

Keiko wrote down the address. “Why are you telling me this?”

“We both want answers.” Chief Haro paused. “What Sazabi did that night was beyond both of our understanding. Was it suicide? A genuine attempt to preserve humanity? We don’t know. You may be able to get the answer for both of us.”

She wanted to ask more questions, even if she didn’t know what they were. Before she could find her voice, the line went dead.

**viii**

The east district on the outskirts of Neotopia’s limits consisted of beautiful countryside. While other districts usually had  _some_ level of industrialization to them (either regarding the style of homes, proper cul-de-sacs, or the presence of factories), this one sat on the literal wilds. Family built farmhouses were scattered far distances between each other, separated by acres of ranches and crop fields. Smaller homes sat sheltered between advancing portions of forest, nestled into private alcoves. Keiko was shocked to realize that she had never been out this way before, and she mentally scolded herself for never doing so. It was stunning.

She wondered if Sazabi would have appreciated it. Certainly not the  _nature_ of course, but it was quiet. It was  _open_.

The road was winding when she pulled into a less traveled niche on a blind curve. She actually missed the turn twice before realizing where it was. The deeper she drove, she more she wondered if she was going to breach the colony’s border. Signs posted indicated she was close: ten miles out and she was going to be completely out of bounds. The asphalt gave way to a dirt road, then a gravel path as she finally spotted a mailbox and the beginnings of a driveway.

 _“You have reached 223 Cottage Road,”_  the GPS’ non-sentient AI announced. She turned off the device with one hand and turned the wheel with the other.

It was another full minute before she even saw the house. It was an  _old_ two-story home painted in a fresh coat of white, overgrown with thousands wildflowers and snaking vines. Any other non-blooming plants appeared to be carefully maintained herbs rather than weeds. Three separate garden fountains stood scattered throughout the front yard, including one that fed into a professionally maintained koi pond . A nearby birdfeeder (one of six that Keiko could  _immediately_ see), was being ransacked by a fat squirrel who comically swung from the edge of the device like an acrobat. The canopy of trees above let light bleed into the sanctuary in all the right places. The glow was ethereal.

Keiko didn’t bother locking the car. She eventually found a footpath made from concrete slabs and mosaic glass that led to the door. The porch creaked under her weight as she stood and rung the doorbell. It chimed softly - possibly  _too_ soft. This was definitely an old house.

There was no answer.

None of the lights in the home appeared to be on, so maybe no one was home. Keiko knocked politely. Again, there was no response. She was about to give up and walk away before there was the sound of multiple locks being pulled back, unhinged, and unclicked. The door pulled open just barely. She expected to see a person’s face, but instead her heart leapt into her throat and almost choked her. The flare of an Axian optic was unmistakable. And she was sure she had seen this mech, Patient Delta, before.

Doga Yellow flashed his optic menacingly at her through the crack in the door. “Oh. It’s  _you_.”

**ix**

Miku Anami was a smallish woman with chocolate hair and lovely marble skin, who stood out like a sore thumb next to the massive ex-Doga Commando she shared her four-bedroom house with. Keiko could tell that doorways of the home had recently been modified, fresh paint marking the newly expanded frames leading from the entryway into the kitchen. Doga Yellow himself was spotted around his hands and arms with the same color paint. Mixed amongst these spots were flecks of white, the same color as the freshly painted house.

“Put some tea on,” Doga Yellow said to Miku, leading Keiko onto the back patio from the cooking space. The back yard was surrounded by tall fence, but the wildflowers from the front had invaded this area as well. There were two more fountains, a shed with three different sized easels leaning against it, and two fresh oil paintings that had been left out to dry. “We got a guest.”

“Oh?” Miku looked up from her tea and rice ball. There were two plates already set up on the quaint outdoor table: one with a mound of traditional onagri, the other with an – entire – raw salmon. “I didn’t even hear the doorbell! I’ll have to get someone to fix that next... is this a friend of yours, Darwin?”

“I heard the car rolling up,” Doga Yellow explained. “Don’t bother calling anyone. I’ll check the wiring myself. And yeah, this is Keiko Ray.”

“Wait. Isn’t she the one who took on the Commander? Oh  _wow_ , what a pleasant surprise!” Miku looked past her charge and smiled gently, extending her hand as Keiko cautiously approached. “My name is Miku Anami. I’m a human resources officer with the SDG. I’m on temporary leave at the moment. Well,  _I_ couldn’t actually leave _, s_ omeone had to carry me... urgh, sorry, that was a bad joke.”

Keiko could see why: both of Miku’s legs were gone below the knees. The wrappings looked like they had been recently changed, too. Keiko couldn’t help but shoot Doga Yellow a nervous look.

“It wasn’t him,” she explained sharply. Despite her warm greeting, her voice was immediately tense. “I got hurt when Blanc Base was attacked by the Big Zam. I had been under one of the launch tunnels when the pathway collapsed and I was trapped. They had to perform an emergency amputation to get me out in time for the big evacuation. Darwin wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Doga Yellow snorted.

“Oh you stop that.” Miku gestured to the empty seat next to her. Keiko sat down as the other woman maneuvered her wheelchair back towards the entrance to the kitchen. “Funny thing is, I’ve done more to restore this place since I ended up off my feet! But I never could have done it without Darwin. He’s been a  _huge_ help around the house. The next project is that stupid doorbell, though.”

“Roof shingles,” Doga Yellow said, deadpan.

“Shoot. That too.”

“Gutters.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Practical stuff first, artsy stuff later.” Miku smiled at Keiko. “See what a mean? He’s a good guy. He even offered to help me get into my prosthetics this morning, but I’m still pretty weak from the accident. I can’t wear them every day until I get the all clear from my therapist.”

“I wish the SDG would give the clear to give my wings back,” Darwin grumbled irritably, sitting down across from Keiko. The chair groaned but otherwise held his tremendous weight. True to word, Keiko could see that his turbines had been removed. He grabbed the whole salmon off the plate, opened a jaw-hinge in his head similar to Sazabi’s (this one was much more “beak” like), and placed the fish inside before swallowing it whole. “That other Doga can still fly, and they returned  _Sazabi’s_ flight boosters.”

“I know.” Miku’s voice deflated. “I’m still waiting to hear back from the SDG about it. I think they’re still waiting for all the chaos to die down. I mean, no civilians even know you’re even here. Everyone thought  _Sazabi_ was the only Axian in Neotopia.”

“Why is that?” Keiko furrowed her brow.

Miku sighed loudly. “It’s because he was reprogrammed. At least they thought he was. He faked it.”

Now it made sense to Keiko why she had never heard about this mech surviving, but knew about Zapper Zaku. Shute had told her all about Zapper from his missions with the Gundam Force, but Zapper was never in the public eye himself. When he was  _supposedly_ reprogrammed, he was sent with Shute and the others on the  _Gundam Musai._ When Doga Yellow was captured by the Gundam Force and “reprogrammed,” he remained on the colony. It wouldn’t have benefited him to be in the public eye as an invader under house arrest like Sazabi. Being reprogrammed, he wouldn’t have even remembered.

To keep him brainwashed, they kept him secret. Except he had  _never even been brainwashed in the first place_. The Axians had proved they couldn’t be repurposed in Robo House. Sazabi was never reprogrammed, so there was no need to fully hide him from the public.

“How did they find out?” Keiko looked between both of them. “I mean. They found out you were faking it  _somehow_.”

“Miku,” Doga Yellow’s voice was pleading. He was quick to redirect the subject. “The tea? Please? I still can’t hold the cups without crushing them.”

“Oops! Sorry.” Miku rolled her wheelchair over to the Axian and put her hand on the top of his head, smoothing her palm across it. It was a comforting gesture. Her fingers grazed his command fin, gave it a playful tug, and then pulled back. Keiko imagined that if she  _ever_ tried that Sazabi, he would have batted her arm away with enough force to shatter bone (or at least tried to before the safety bolt kicked in). “Do you have a preference, Keiko? I have mint and juniper. Darwin likes mint the best, but don’t tell him I told you. I caught him eating a whole mint plant, once.”

Doga Yellow turned to look at her, opening his jaws and snapping them closed threateningly.

“Juniper is fine.” Keiko said.

“Play nice!” Miku disappeared through the doorway, vanishing somewhere inside the house’s quaint kitchen while Keiko was left alone with the Axian.

Silence.

Keiko coughed. Miku was talkative, but it was clear that Doga Yellow himself was not. She grabbed for the first icebreaker she could think of, then almost regretted it. “Darwin?”

“While faking being reprogrammed, I was... named.” The Axian rolled his optic to the side, trying to find something else to look at. This was awkward for him, too. “I did not have a custom designation in the Dark Axis.”

“But you were one of the Commandos,” Keiko pointed out.

“Just because a soldier has agency to name themselves doesn’t mean they should.” The Doga’s internals whirled. “Names complicate things.”

Again, silence passed between them. A bird twittered overhead.

“I heard about what happened to the Commander,” Doga Yellow said. “They keep replaying the footage on your human-televisions. Gerbera must have  _reaaally_  slagged him off to body slam him into the ground like that. Those idiot Doga grunts never stood a chance. I could hear the panic over my radio.”

“You... heard?” Keiko blinked. He had intercepted actual radio waves? “But you’re not with the Dark Axis anymore. How could you have—?”

“A lot of my functions were disabled, but not all of them. I still have working communication relays that can link me to Doga flocks. It wasn’t exactly a secret to me when they showed up, but it wasn’t like I could warn anyone in time. Gerbera moves damn quick when he’s budgeted for time.” Doga Yellow upturned his head as if he were personally offended by her question. It was amazing, Keiko thought, how expressive Axians could still be even with limited mobility in their faces. Just a slight tilt of their head, a minor repositioning of their optical relay... she briefly thought about Sazabi and regretted it when she remembered his blank, comatose stare in the hospital. “My wingmates and I worked directly under his command. I don’t miss it.”

“But Gerbera didn’t go after you. Just Sazabi.”

“They still think I’m dead. I had no flock-access to the Dogas that came with Gerbera, so it means my admin privileges over them were blocked. Gerbera only does that to Commandos who are KIA. I was never in the limelight when I was captured by that  _Guneagle_ brat, so I got the benefit of fading out of Gerbera’s crosshairs.” Doga Yellow rolled his optic. “The Commander didn’t. Either you were brave or stupid to take him.”

Keiko frowned. “Accusing someone of being stupid isn’t polite.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t live this long by being polite.” Doga Yellow lowered his head again. His optic rolled to the side, looking back into the house after Miku, before turning back towards Keiko. She could see the apertures inside his eye adjusting. “How  _is_  the Commander?”

“In a coma.” Keiko leaned back in her seat and folded her hands in her lap. “He almost died again this morning from complications.”

“Too bad. They should’ve let him expire.”

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting from him, but wanting Sazabi dead was the last thing she imagined. Keiko swallowed and tried to keep her voice even. “You don’t  _want_  Sazabi to survive?”

“No offense human, but your houseguest kind of murdered the leader of my unit  _and my entire squadron_. There’s no love lost between the two of us, trust me”

It took Keiko a few solid seconds of processing to evaluate his words. When it hit her, she felt her stomach knot uncomfortably. The realization wasn’t a good one. “The grey Doga and all the other Dogas above the Horn of War.”

“Darktide was the leader of the Commando Four. He was nothing but utterly  _loyal_  to the Commander, and look what it got him. Shot in the back by a particle canon as he tried to defend Sazabi’s sorry hide. I’m glad that Gundam roughed him up as bad as he did, but he deserved  _worse_.” Doga Yellow plucked up one of the rice balls. Keiko had almost forgotten then were there. He unhinged his jaw and angrily tossed it in. He took another moment to collect himself. “Then to add insult to injury, he killed all those Dogas above the Horn of War. Each of the Commandos had an assigned squadron, and they were  _mine_. He might have won against Captain if he just let them live, but he was so full of himself that he self-destructed his own chance at victory. We all knew he was prone to killing his own soldiers, but never like that. Never all at once. And  _especially_ never a high-ranking officer who only ever showed obedience.”

“I’m so sorry,” Keiko said, and she meant it.

“Darktide being murdered wasn’t even the worst part,” Doga Yellow said. “Doga Blue and Doga Purple were killed less than a minute earlier. The Knight and Musha Gundam got to them first. They called for help and Darktide and I were too preoccupied to scramble backup units to their location. That was left up to Sazabi, and guess what he did? He let them  _die_. Darktide and I felt their  _panic_. We felt when they were  _slaughtered_. And there was nothing we could do to save them.”

Keiko stared at him.

“Dogas are all in-sync with each other,” he continued. “Gerbera made us that way to make us more efficient on the field. The bond between Commandos is particularly strong. We could function as a single entity rather than individuals. We felt everything that the others did, including simulated pain signals. I’ve felt the loss of single Commandos before, but three in the same night? Navy’s engine exploded. Violent was slashed clear in half. I felt Darktide break down on a  _molecular_  level. Do you have  _any_ idea what its like to have your atoms ripped apart while you’re still alive? Do you know what it's like to feel yourself dying three times over in a span of one hundred and twenty seconds? All I could do was sit in a cage after I was captured and  _scream_.”

Keiko didn’t answer. She was  _horrified_.

“Yeah. Didn’t think so.” Doga Yellow went for another rice ball. It went down the hatch with an angry toss into his maw. “Look lady, if you came for some thoughtful Axian insight into  _why_  Sazabi did what he did, I can tell you it’s not for the reasons your human friends seem to think.”

“You mean the SDG?”

“Those idiots couldn’t claw their way out of a faulty stasis pod. Commander Sazabi wasn’t trying to save anyone that night when he slammed Gerbera a new one. He was looking out for what he considered  _his._ His sacrifice was selfish, not heroic. I don’t even think the bastard knows what the word even means.”

Keiko narrowed her eyes. She started to tap her fingers on the table. “Selfish?”

“Sorry that took so long.” Miku maneuvered her chair back outside. A small tray with two cups was delicately balanced in her lap. She set the tray on the table when she was close enough. “Here you go! One juniper tea and one mint tea. Yours is the yellow cup, Darwin.”

The Doga Commando stared at the cups. Then he looked at his warden and gave her the same look Keiko remembered getting from Sazabi when he was in one of his moods.

Miku sputtered and immediately apologized. She picked up the yellow cup and handed it to the Axian directly. “Oops! Sorry, Darwin! I keep forgetting.”

“At least one of us can,” Doga Yellow said. He sounded deflated. Despite how agitated he had been before, his tone immediately smoothed over. That was when Keiko recognized that he legitimately  _cared_ about Miku. “Thank you.”

Keiko took her own tea and offered thanks as well.

“Looks like we’re almost out of rice balls too.” Miku turned her chair around. “Be right back. You guys having fun?”

Doga Yellow huffed. “You’re hilarious.”

“Don’t be a party pooper.”

When the other woman was back inside, Keiko took a sip of her tea. It was very good: better than anything she had ever tried making at home. It must have been fresh. Considering the herbs out front, it probably was. Doga Yellow simply opened his jaws and dumped the tea down all at once. Keiko watched his maw rehinge into place with a differing mechanism to Sazabi, before trying to ease back into the conversation. “What did she mean by forgetting?”

The Doga Bomber’s body visibly tensed. He seemed to debate his answer. “My vision isn’t...  _optimal_. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then maybe you want to talk about what you meant by Sazabi being selfish.” Keiko took another sample sip of her tea, using the opportunity to watch his body language. He didn’t relax. “Sacrificing himself to save my baby and I hardly seems selfish. And the fact he was willing to hurt himself so—”

“Wait.” Doga Yellow cocked his head backwards and pivoted his optic to look directly at her. The expression was identical to the one Sazabi used to give her when he was caught off guard – and unimpressed. “You think Sazabi tried to kill himself?”

The way he dictated his question bothered her, and not because it was the reality she had been avoiding for this many weeks since the accident. Keiko frowned. “I... isn’t that what he did?”

Doga Yellow stared.

And then he laughed so hard that a bird took off in a nearby tree.

“You’re  _kidding_ , right? Please tell me you’re joking, my circuits might short-circuit if you’re not!” As the laughter drew on, Keiko was more and more aware that it was  _not_ a nice laugh. Every engine rev edged the Doga Commando’s voice towards a peak of slowly bubbling anger. The last few laughs were forced to the point of sounding violent. “Commander Sazabi didn’t care about you and your family, lady. Not the way you think humans and robots should care for each other. He failed to conquer Neotopia, but he conquered  _you_. You were  _territory_  to him. You were  _his_. The Commanders were designed to adapt to any situation to take over entire dimensions, and it sounds to me like he just adapted to taking what he could under the circumstances. When Gerbera threatened your family, he directly assaulted Sazabi’s property and he reacted accordingly. He was willing to kill himself to defend what was his. Not because he had feelings or good intentions, but because he was defending what he stole.”

Keiko felt her mouth go dry. The tea stood no chance of helping. “That’s not true.”

“You and your family were groomed and assimilated into being conquered assets.” Doga Yellow leaned forward. The conversation was no longer friendly. The dripping  _fury_ in his voice was thick enough to be carved through with a knife. “You belonged to him. You, your house, your offspring... he defended you because your destruction meant he would be left with nothing all over again. Sazabi was never going to risk that. Not when he had already been stripped of everything that gave him a sense of agency.”

“That’s not  _true_.” Keiko Ray was shaking now. The schoolteacher couldn’t help but repeat herself as something in her chest squeezed. It didn’t feel nice. It was ugly and fat and  _writhing_. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Her adrenaline was pumping.

“You might as well thank me for pointing this all out, human.” Doga Yellow was shaking, too. He looked ready to burst. His voice dripped with loathing, red hot and venomous. “You’re lucky you ended up with such an egomaniac  _idiot_ under your roof. Any other Commander would have cut their losses when Gerbera attacked. You and your offspring would have  _burned_  in that fire. Sazabi was so selfish that he had to smash himself  _and_  Gerbera into oblivion just to prove he owned you.”

“Now wait just a minute!” Keiko stood up. She braced her hands on the table and looked down at the Axian, struggling to reel herself in. Collecting her thoughts was hard when she felt like her chest was going to burst. She was a multitasker - but this was too much. Too much too  _soon_. “Commander Sazabi  _certainly_ isn’t the same mech he was on the Horn of War, and neither are you.  _You_ sure treat Miku differently than what seems to be standard for the Dark Axis. You hated humans just like Sazabi, didn’t you?”

Doga Yellow’s optic flared. “That’s not—”

The sensation that settled in Keiko’s gut was familiar. It was exactly like the time she had the conversation with Sazabi through the door. She was angry and upset all at once, and the anger was bleeding through without a tourniquet to stop it. Her voice cracked. “People change. People can try to make an effort to do good.  _You_ seem to have succeeded in that respect, Darwin. Miku trusts you wholeheartedly, just like I was starting to trust Sazabi. Why  _couldn’t_  the Commander have changed? Do you have that little faith in him? Do you even really  _know_ him?”

Doga Yellow stood up so fast that the table bowled over. Both the tea cups and plates fell and smashed on the stone patio. The huge mech roared his engine and stood almost eye-level to her, shaking  _hard_  to the point where his armor rattled. His pointed helm actually bumped into her. Keiko wondered if the Axian was going to hit her.

The Doga Commando made a strange noise. It took her a few seconds for her brain to unscramble what it was. She had never heard an Axian cry before.

“He killed Darktide. He refused to help Navy and Violent when they were begging for their  _lives_  to be rescued. He murdered my men and left me with no way to get back home. Any faith I had left in my Commander died he second he fell on the Horn of War.” Doga Yellow’s voice was a choked whimper. “Only winning could keep us safe, and we lost everything.”

He reached up and covered the front of his face with a shaking hand. The closest thing to  _grief_  she had seen in an Axian was when Sazabi lamented breaking the kitchen window that one afternoon. Keiko stared.

It was then that she realized the worst part behind his grief.

Sazabi had chosen  _humans_  over his own kind.

(Sazabi wasn’t the only Axian who was depressed.)

(wounded long before she even lectured him—)

Doga Yellow sobbed. It was a sound between an animal whine and a flooded engine. Then the Commando turned and fled. He retreated back into the house just as Miku reemerged with the rice balls. She said nothing to him as he disappeared into the house, sparing Keiko an apologetic look.

“Maybe you’d like to stay for dinner?” She didn’t sound particularly confident.

Keiko politely declined. After she helped reposition the table and picked up the broken ceramic, they headed back inside. Miku glanced around the corner of the kitchen entryway that led into a living space, but Keiko didn’t dare follow her gaze. She didn’t want to see Doga Yellow again. Not this soon. She didn’t want to upset Doga Yellow more than he already was. When Miku offered to wrap the rice balls for her to take with her, she politely declined a second time.

“I think he needs them more than I do,” she said. “Thank you again so much for the tea. I’m sorry about the cups.”

“No need to be sorry! I was starting to upgrade everything to plastic, anyways. Less likely to break when you have robots living in your house that have never been told to handle things gently.” Miku offered a bright smile as she followed Keiko to the door. She handed her a small note before she left, placing it in her hands and folding her fingers over it. “Please feel free to come back whenever you like! I know we didn’t get to talk much, but having another person in the house who isn’t silently  _judging_  me all the time has been a relief.”

At first, Keiko thought she was referring to Doga Yellow. Then it  _hit_ her, and she understood the sentiment immediately. She thought about going home to Pam and George and shuddered. They had judged her the  _most_ critically for taking Sazabi in. Who in Miku’s life passed the same judgement? Her own parents? Her siblings? Her close friends who abandoned her even after she lost her legs? The path leading to the old white house hadn’t been well-traveled. If someone  _Keiko_ knew had been recently crippled, she would have tried to see them every day. But no one saw Miku. No one other than her physical-therapist.

Darwin was all that Miku had. And Miku was all that  _Darwin_ had.

Keiko said her goodbyes and left for her car, turning around to look back at the house. There was a flash of pink in one of the first-floor windows. As quickly as Doga Yellow appeared to watch her leave, he was gone behind a drawn curtain once more.

She sat in her car and turned over the ignition. Then she opened the note that Miku gave her. It was her phone number and a single sentence.

_Darwin made an effort, too._

**x**

Dinner that night was homemade lasagna and a roast chicken. Nana was ravenous, and she ate everything pureed that Mark presented to her on her favorite red spoon. Pamela expressed steep surprise at just how much she wolfed down. The baby had been acting strangely all day, it seemed.

“She didn’t cry once,” Pam said worriedly. “Even after all the commotion this morning! Then you would think she would be tired and want to take a nap, but she sat awake in her crib and refused to lie down. And all she did was  _stare!”_

Nana was acting fine  _now_ , Keiko thought. She put her daughter to bed after dinner, then prepared to go to bed herself. She was exhausted. It was a long day.

“Sazabi’s fine,” Mark said as he came in from the adjacent guest bathroom. He was dressed in a white t-shirt and seafoam pajama bottoms. “They set him up with a third low-power engine to supplement the others. Kao Lyn is gonna start putting all the fixed parts they scooped out back in, too. He’s already started trying to recreate whatever couldn’t be repaired.”

Keiko blinked. Then she looked down at her phone. No missed calls. The crack still taunted her, though. “Who told you that?”

Mark sputtered. “I mean— uh. They called while I was at the office this morning, honey. After we got back from Blanc Base. You were still in school. Maybe that’s why they held off giving you a call.”

She debated telling him about the conversation she had with Chief Haro, then thought against it. After they both got into bed, they watched television for an hour. It wasn’t until the lights finally went out that she decided to tell him about Doga Yellow. “There’s another Axian living on the colony.”

“You mean the one they had as a prisoner the other week?” He sounded overly surprised. It sounded almost... fake? It was a hard to describe. “I think everyone knows about him now, sweetie.”

“No, Mark. Another one that was at Robo House. Not Zapper Zaku or Sazabi. One of the Commandos.”

“Really?” Mark turned over to look at her, propping his head up on one of the pillows. It smelled strongly of softener and Pamela’s perfume. Not  _Fancy by Lalah_  this time. Something worse. Urgh, had she washed the sheets again while they were out? “Did you go see him or something?”

“Yes. He was put under house arrest like Sazabi was. They mentioned him at the meeting this morning when you ran off to do your phone call.”

“Sorry about that, hon... how’d it go? Meeting this new Axian, I mean.”

“I asked him about why Sazabi did what he did. He seemed to think that Sazabi was just... protecting something he conquered. It had nothing to do with him wanting to kill himself  _or_  wanting to protect us because he cared.” Keiko sighed and propped her own head up. Her face was close to her husband’s, now. His breath was warm on her cheek.

Mark stared at her. “Do you believe him?”

“I don’t know. He was very genuine.” Keiko leaned back against the headboard and drew her knees up. She didn’t want to look her husband in the face. She felt... what? Sorry? For herself? It wasn’t a particularly nice sensation. “If we really  _were_  just property to him...”

“Nana.”

“What?”

Mark had a strange look on his face. He looked her in the eye for what felt like an eternity before he started talking again. “Keiko, we  _saw_  how he treated Nana. Especially towards the end. Even if he  _did_ view us as property, it was only because that was the way he was programmed. I mean... you said yourself all the time that the Dark Axis was hardly a real home. Maybe in his head, that was the closest he could get to showing that he wanted to change? I don’t know, honey. Does that make sense?”

She stared at him.

“So maybe he didn’t  _mean_ to flat out commit suicide. Maybe he didn’t  _mean_ to only treat us like a conquered world.” Mark continued. He looked down at his hands and fumbled, making an inarticulate gesture as he tried to sort his thoughts. Then he reached out and touched her hand. He stroked her skin affectionately. “It’s never an extreme, Keiko. It’s always something in-between.”

Keiko didn’t answer him. She wasn’t sure how she even could. Before she knew it, she was waking up in the middle of the night to her husband spooning her. She never even remembered falling asleep. She was never able to fall back asleep. Her mind raced for the rest of the night, multitasking between haunting shades of grey.

_He made an effort._

**xi**

Mark knew a guy who was willing to come and fix the window in the kitchen, but only if Sazabi wasn’t going to be around. Keiko made a note to let Sazabi have the day off. He was acting so tired recently – maybe he  _deserved_ a day for himself.

In all his time with the Ray family, he had never had one. She never would have considered the thought months earlier, either.

After putting Nanako to bed for the night, she went up to Sazabi’s room and knocked on the door. After washing the windows she had asked him to, the Commander disappeared into his room and didn’t reappear for the rest of the evening. Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. She knocked again. Still no response. He was probably having a subdued tantrum in silence. Maybe he hoped she would just go away.

Keiko was not so easily deterred.

“Sazabi?”

Was he asleep?

“I’m giving you the day off tomorrow. I know I said I wanted you to finish re-washing the rest of the windows, but someone is coming to fix the broken glass in the kitchen. You can do whatever you want, so long as you don’t harass the repairman.”

Keiko tried the bent door knob and cautiously pushed it open, peering inside.

It was the first time she had ever tried looking into his space while he occupied it. As much as he was a guest in her home (and  _only_  supposed to be a guest, despite how used to him she had gotten), there was something that felt inherently wrong with intruding onto his space like this. Thankfully, he appeared to be asleep. The room was pitch black and the Commander in question was backed into a corner. His head was down and his optic was blinking in a slow rhythm. A recharge light? He didn’t react to her nudging the door wider. The red light illuminated his body and the unused mattress and lamp, but it was too weak to cast shadows.

Keiko felt something inside her knot. She  _pitted_  him. As she closed the door behind her, she wondered if she could get Mark to wash the rest of the windows before going to work. After some thought, she went downstairs, got a bucket, and washed them herself.

She was a multitasker.

She was going to make an effort, too.


	10. YE-03Z3

**We are the angry and the desperate, the hungry and the cold.**  

 **We were the ones who kept quiet and always did what we were told.**  

**Keep quiet no longer, we’ll sing through the day**

**of the lives that we’ve lost and the lives we’ve reclaimed!**  

**Don’t hold me up now,**

**I can stand my own ground.**  

 _Prayer of the Refugee_  – Rise Against

**i**

**_GUNDAM MUSAI_ ** **** **ENGINE ROOM - ZAKO STAGE**

A SPOTLIGHT lights up on a closed metal CURTAIN. A projection of ZAKO ZAKO HOUR is displayed on the steel.

Zako!

       Zako!

              Zako!

**Zako Zako Hour!**

The curtain lifts after the familiar INTRO JIG, and the THREE ZAKO HOSTS are revealed to be waiting on stage. From stage right to stage left there is ZAKO #3 with a YELLOW MICROPHONE, ZAKO #1 with a RED MICROPHONE, and ZAKO #2 with a BLUE MICROPHONE. All three bow courteously. Z1 and Z3 do this with a level of energy standard for a normal  _Zako Zako Hour_. Z2 moves much slower than his co-hosts.

 **Z1** **  
** Ladies and gentlebots! Welcome to the  _Zako Zako Hour!_  Today’s meeting is all about— all together now—!

 **ALL**  
(with varying levels of enthusiasm)  
What the heck is timeline fatigue!?

There is no response from the AUDIENCE. The CAMERA rapidly pans out to reveal that the “auditorium” where the stage is located is totally empty – apart from one ZAKO SOLDIER in the far back of the house. He waves cutely at the stage. The camera rapidly zooms back in.

Z1 looks at his co-hosts, totally perplexed. Z2 looks off to the side, dejected. Z3 appears worried. Z1 is not impressed with the energy from the audience or his associates.

 **Z1**  
(annoyed)  
Well, it’s a shame everyone is off doing their own thing. They’re going to miss this  _very_  important show, zako zako!

 **Z2** **  
** (mutters incoherently, aggravated)

 **Z3**  
(glancing at Z2, anxious)  
Hehheh, uh... I don’t get it, zako. What the heck is timeline fatigue and how did you hear about it? Sounds pretty scary, zako zako.

Z1 and Z3 both pause. Nothing happens. Slowly, they look at Z2, indicating that it is his turn to speak and he has missed a cue. Z2 sighs without looking at either one of them. He is not engaged in this  _Zako Zako Hour_  whatsoever.

 **Z2**  
(monotone, with no effort)  
Yes, zako. How could you have come across this piece of very important information when we are in the middle of nowhere, and we have no access to outside—?

Z1 appears to grow impatient with his co-host’s slow drawl and skips straight to the point. He leaps to the side and gestures to the view screen behind the stage. The image shows Z1 hiding haphazardly inside SHUTE’S CLOSET in an obviously edited screenshot from a PREVIOUS EPISODE. We can tell it’s Z1 because his red microphone is poking out behind the open door with him.

 **Z1**  
(proudly)  
See, while the rest of you were moping around not doing anything to find material for the  _Zako Zako Hour_ , I was spying on the human, zako!

 **Z2**  
(obviously moping)  
Moping.  _Sure_.

 **Z3**  
(with his back turned to the audience, looking at the screen and deadpan)  
How long were you in there for?

 **Z1** **  
** You would think the human would own something other than red sweaters and short shorts, zako.

An AWKWARD SILENCE sweeps over the stage. This, ironically, has nothing to do with the misplaced conversation about short shorts. Z1 glares at Z2, who is still not sticking with whatever pre-determined script the hosts are trying to follow. Z3 shuffles, becoming more and more nervous with the growing contempt.

 **Z1**  
(increasingly irritated by the lack of support)  
_Anyways_ , I learned some valuable information! As it turns out, Commander Sazabi was  _not_  destroyed on the Horn of War, zako!

Z3 and Z2 turn and stare at Z1. Their expressions are critical, which appears out-of-place for the show. This information is new to them despite any previous rehearsals (or lack thereof) for this act. Z2 looks more annoyed than Z3 does, who looks more confused than anything.

 **Z3**  
(confused)  
But... butbutbutbut  _wait_. that doesn’t make sense! The Commander  _can’t_  be alive, zako!

 **Z1**  
(deadpan)  
Well not any  _more_  he’s not. He was killed protecting those humans in Neotopia more than ninety-five thousand words ago.

 **Z3** **  
** No, I mean— wait what?

 **Z1** **  
** What?

 **Z3** **  
** What?

 **Z1**   **  
**_What?_

Both hosts stare at each other in confusion. Z1 SWEATDROPS and stares straight at the camera. Neither one of them will budge. Z2, even more upset than before, stands up and glares at Z1 in particular.

 **Z2** **  
** He meant it’s not possible for the Commander to be alive because we saw him die on the Horn of War,  _zako_.

 **Z1**  
(having regained his wits)  
That’s just it, zako! We  _didn’t_  watch him die on the Horn of War!  _Look!_

A CLIP from a PREVIOUS SEASON plays on the screen, showing CAPTAIN GUNDAM and COMMANDER SAZABI fighting on top of the HORN OF WAR. The clip is from  _The Final Battle! Commander vs. Captain._  At a pivotal moment, Captain Gundam plucks the SOULDRIVE out of the Commander’s chest. The Commander’s optic flashes in confusion before he collapses on the ground, unmoving.

 **Z3**  
(quietly)  
The animation quality looks  _great_ , zako.

Z **2**  
(deadpan)  
No.

 **Z1** **  
** No? On the contrary, zako, I also agree the animation looks great—

 **Z2**  
(clearly  _very_  annoyed)  
No. I meant that’s not what happened. The Commander’s souldrive was  _destroyed_ , zako. We were there! Look!

The screen switches to show a SCREENCAP from the previous episode mentioned. It shows Captain Gundam with the familiar co-hosts who are clearly PLAYING POSSUM in the background. This screencap is blatantly edited to have them in it.

 **Z3** **  
** He’s is right, zako. I remember being there. Somehow. What I  _don’t_  remember is the Commander surviving, zako.

 **Z1**  
(nodding eagerly)  
Yes, what you are remembering is  _this!_

The screen flickers to show a new clip. A frankly POORLY ANIMATED sequence with LOW BUDGET CELL SHADING (courteous of  _Cartoon Network_  watermarked in the bottom-right corner) shows CAPTAIN GUNDAM punching COMMANDER SAZABI’S SOULDRIVE into thousands of little pieces. A MASSIVE EXPLOSION follows.

Z3 and Z1 look at each other in confusion as the clip finishes and cuts off.

 **Z3** **  
** I... I’m confused, zako. That’s how I remember it. But why do we have two sets of footage? And why did that last clip look so sketchy.

 **Z1** **  
** In the defense of the animators, the cell shading process has aged rather well since 2003.

Z3 and Z2 stare at him. Z1 coughs.

 **Z1** **  
** See, while I was spying on the human, I also learned something else! While we Zakos have always been familiar with traveling between dimensions, time travel was never possible with the Zakorello Gate. However, a piece of technology called a  _transwarp drive_...

The aforementioned TRANSWARP DRIVE appears on the screen as a very poor artist’s rendition. It is shaped like a black rectangle and smudged.

 **Z1**  
(cont.)  
...can make jumping between dimensions and jumping through time possible!

Silence descends over the stage. The sole audience member makes an “ooooh” sound, but it is comically distant sounding. Z2 and Z3 stare at Z1, one more murderously than the other.

 **Z2**  
(stating to shake in rage, which is clearly not part of the act)  
_What_.

 **Z3**  
(terrified, watching Z2 come undone)  
Uh,  _Red_ —

 **Z1**  
(oblivious)  
That’s right, zako!  _Time travel!_  And not just any kind of time travel:  _accidental_  time travel! I know it sounds impossible. But after doing some investigating, I think I discovered the missing link between why we remember two versions of what happened to the Commander. So, who wants to know the secret, zako zako?

Silence descends over the stage. Z2 is now shaking  _hard_.

 **Z3**  
(edges closer to Z1, tapping him on the shoulder)  
Uhhh...

 **Z1** **  
** What?

Z1 looks at Z2, who suddenly shrieks and  _hurls_  his microphone at the other mech with all his strength. Z3 squeals and barely dodges to the side before Z2 lunges across the stage at Z1, seizing the front of his collar and punching him square in the side of the head with enough force to make something  _crack_.

 **Z1**  
(yelling)  
BLUE!? What are you  _doing_ , zako!?

 **Z2**  
(screaming, shouting in-between punches)  
I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE, ZAKO! I QUIT! THIS SHOW IS  _OVER!_

Z3 stands off to the side, dropping his microphone and covering his vented “mouth” with his hands. He looks up at the camera, shaking in fear, before the iron curtain drops and the  _Zako Zako Hour_  ends.

**END SCENE.**

**ii**

Yellow was horrified. He knew the show was going to end badly, but this? 

This was a disaster.

(Sure. Right. This was exactly what he expected. He was lying if he thought otherwise.)

The curtain came down with a tremendous crash. It drowned out the sound of Blue’s fist colliding with Red’s helmet, and both Zakos went down like a sack of control horns. The hit was brutal. Metal raked metal with a screech, sending a flash of sparks flying before either of them struck the floor. It was definitely going to leave paint transfer. As Blue flailed on him, Red struggled to lift his arms to defend himself. Both mechs were shouting, hissing steam and roaring their engines, hooking their digits into armor seams to rip one another apart...

Yellow couldn’t move to separate them. He stood frozen in place, utterly petrified.

(Petrified. Ha. That was a laugh.) 

Red managed to land a right hook. Blue’s optic flashed and rolled in his head. The tables turned and the offending mech was bowled onto his side. Red went on the offensive and pounced on him immediately, trying to pin the other Zako’s wrists. He didn’t want to hurt him, but Blue was absolutely adamant. Even down for the count, he was kicking wildly in an attempt to regain the upperhand. Red cried out. He was just as mortified as Yellow was. “What are you doing!? Stop!” 

“I’ll stop WHEN I KICK YOUR VENTS IN!”

“What did I do, zako!?”

Too bad they didn’t fight like this on a regular basis, Yellow thought. They might have won against Neotopia. 

“What the frag is going on back there!?” Help had arrived. Grappler Gouf rounded the corner leading from stage left and skidded to a halt, his optic flaring as he locked in on the chaos. The colonel swore and ran his hands over his helm in exasperation. “What in Evil’s name are you idiots fighting about!?” 

“I’m gonna kill you!” Blue managed to flip his and Red’s positions to top him again, slamming the other mech down on the ground hard. The stage shook. Red’s optic flashed as he almost lost consciousness, struggling to defend himself once more. 

(This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen.)

“Destroyer! Get your aft back here! We got two Zakos trying to kill each other!” The cobalt squadron leader advanced and tried to pry Red away. Unfortunately for both of them, Blue was quick on the uptake and was sure to latch on. The warring Zako refused to be separated from his target. Grappler shouted, exasperated. “Hey! Knock it off!” 

The stage shook. Even in the low light, Yellow could see the set of dark digits that crammed under the steel curtain. The metal buckled ominously. One of the gears that operated the sliding door’s pulley cracked and gave way. The door was jacked upward with a tremendous heave, and Destroyer Dom’s hulking silhouette appeared center stage. There was no denying the once-berserker had mellowed out in his time with the _Magna Musai_ crew, but he was still a menace when on the warpath. There was no playful, confused glow to his optic when he lumbered forward and reached out, seizing both Zakos by the backs of their heads. He pried them apart so hard that they both squealed in pain. Grappler barely had enough time to let go before he risked getting his arm ripped off. 

“Now will someone please explain what the frag is going on?” Grappler Gouf’s vent twisted in a furious sneer. “Well?!”

“I HATE YOU!” Blue was shaking. The Zako’s engine sputtered with effort as he started to cry. He was angry. Desperate.Either taken aback by the shout or the sounds the Zako was making, Destroyer Dom dropped Blue. The Zako sputtered, trembled, and took off stage left before anyone could say anything more. He vanished into the darkness of the off left wing. Something backstage in the cross over got knocked down and fell with a clatter.

“Right. Okay. You know what? I just decided I don’t care.” Grappler threw his hands up and turned around, storming off stage right. “Leave ‘em, Dom. If they start fighting again, we’ll lock them in a room with the Gundams until they calm down.” 

“Uhhh, thought we were locked in  _here.”_ Destroyer looked at Red, who still looked shocked. The Zako in question had rolled into a sitting position now that he was back on solid ground. Then he looked at Yellow. The third co-host of the  _Zako Zako Hour_  could see that the purple colonel genuinely looked concerned. He let out a heavy sigh, ruffled the top of Red’s head, then obediently followed after Grappler. 

Yellow had to leave. Things had devolved too quickly. The world was spinning and too unfamiliar all at once. As he fled upstage and exited straight off the stage apron into the engine room, he caught sight of Red sitting in the center of the abandoned stage with his head in his hands. Hungry for answers and cold.

**iii**

The  _Zako Zako Hour_  was Red’s pride and joy.

While all Musais had mandatory soldier-driven meetings, they were generally long and exhausting in nature. Squadron leaders usually headed them because the Zakos themselves had too short attention spans to stay on topic. And who could blame them? They were rolled off the factory floor programmed to be pointed in one direction and told to shoot. There was nothing in their coding that told them to sit still for more than thirty seconds at a time.

Yet time and time again, the Commanders and squadron leaders seemed to act  _surprised_ at this. Angry, even. Professor Gerbera must not have had a complaint department.

It was an agonizing nightmare standing in the cramped theaters for more than five minutes at a time, and they  _were_ cramped. Most Musais could hold crews ranging in size from six hundred to more than a thousand soldiers, but they never constructed meeting halls quite large enough. Anything longer than five minutes was just inhumane... not that their officers  _cared_  about being humane, but still. Yellow used to especially dread the meetings on the  _Killswitch Musai_. It was the first ship he had ever been posted to after his creation, and Commander Krieger headed them himself. His squadron leaders were described as being “inefficient” at doing the job themselves, although the Commander never gave adequate explanation why. Or maybe he did. Yellow might not have been paying attention. The Commander could go on listening to himself talk for  _hours_  if uninterrupted, and you either had a death wish or were plain stupid if you dare interrupt a Commander. Zako White was always on standby with her rifle drawn in case anyone started to nod off.

(Although Blue might have had it worse. Before his transfer from the now abandoned  _Black Musai_  Horn of War in Lacroa, Nightingale used to pluck Zakos straight out of the crowd if they weren’t paying attention. Then she would have her squadron leaders eject them from the ship. It was easier to “purge inattentive cogs” from her horde rather than fix them.)

Occasionally, mass reassignments among the Zako hordes would take place. This was done to keep military operations running fresh. Soldiers who became too accustomed to their surroundings would grow lazy. Laziness meant extinction. Extinction meant failure. When another mass shuffle was initiated among the grunt forces, Yellow found himself assigned from Krieger’s ship to the  _Magna Musai_. This new flagship was smaller than most of the others in the invasion fleet, only able to hold half the load of soldiers. But she complimented the prowess of her Commander rather nicely. She was a damn fast ship, and despite multiple invasions under her belt, the _Magna Musai_ had been deemed worthy to be retrieved every time. Like her Commander, she was equally a crown jewel.

To serve aboard her was an honor.

It was also how Yellow met Red and Blue.

Everyone was understandably on edge after the  _incident_  with Solitary Gyan and Zapper Zaku less than a week earlier. It wasn’t every day that you saw one Academy cadet blast another to pieces, especially over a slain runt of a Zako. The ship was quiet. Zakos tried to keep to themselves. Unless you were Red, RD-111Z, and an unapologetic nuisance. Upbeat and sharp as a tac, he trotted up behind Yellow and knocked on the back of his head like they knew each other since the manufacturing floor. Except they didn’t, and Yellow’s nickname hadn’t been Yellow yet. RD-111Z was a generation twelve MS-06F Zako, and YE-03Z3 was a generation ten.

RD-111Z seemed offended when YE-03Z3 understandably went to take a swipe at him. “Hey, zako! That’s not nice!”

“Says the Zako that just started knocking on my head for no reason!” YE-03Z3 roared his engine and stomped a foot.

The other Zako wasn’t intimidated. “I was trying to get your attention! I’m RD-111Z. You can call me Red, zako.”

YE-03Z3 offered up his own designation. Then he stopped. “You can’t do that, zako.”

“Do what?”

“Name yourself.” YE-03Z3 looked around nervously, as if Krieger or one of his two squadron leaders would come lunging from the shadows to get him. Or Zako White, if he ever even saw her coming. Zako soldiers weren’t supposed to give themselves custom designations. Krieger insisted that it encouraged  _free thinking,_ whatever that was. “If you get caught—”

“It’s just a nickname,” RD-111Z said with a shrug. Despite his calm tone of voice, his body language betrayed his sudden excitement. He was practically vibrating. He then held something aloft. “I picked it because of this.”

At first, YE-03Z3 wasn’t sure  _what_  he was looking at. The item had a red bulbous top and a handle base that was being gripped by the other soldier. “What  _is_  that, zako?”

“A microphone.” The other mech said it so  _giddily_  that YE-03Z3 wasn’t sure if he was being entirely serious.

Another Zako walked up behind RD-111Z and sighed dramatically. He was also holding a microphone, this time with a blue square foam piece. YE-03Z3 didn’t know how long he had been eavesdropping. BU-2ZZ2 introduced himself as Blue. “He’s gonna ask you if you want to do this  _thing_  with us, zako. Lord Zapper Zaku gave him permission to head the soldier meetings and he wants to make it into some kind of scripted act, zako zako.”

“Scripted?” He narrowed his optic at the two other Zakos, revving his engine defensively. Zakos didn’t just  _ask_  for anything. “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch, zako!” RD-111Z couldn’t sit still. His other arm that had been held behind his back produced a third microphone. It was yellow with a triangular head. “I’ve been going around this ship trying to find a third Zako with the right voice codec and code-title for  _days_. You’re perfect!”

YE-03Z3 looked at BU-2ZZ2 questionably.

The Zako shrugged. “I think he’s either obsessive compulsive or a basket case, zako. But he’s legit.”

“I don’t even know what a basket is, zako.” 

_“Exactly.”_

Overhead, there was an electronic shriek. A harsh booming codec rang through the hallway like a thunderclap before an acid storm. The  _Magna Musai_ AI had a terrifying presence. ”UNITS RD-111Z, BU-2ZZ2, and YE-03Z3. YOUR INACTIVITY HAS BEEN NOTED. PROCEED TO YOUR DUTIES OR ENCOURAGEMENT MEASURES WILL BE DEPLOYED. YOU HAVE SIXTY SECONDS TO COMPLY.” 

RD-111Z flinched. “You’ll get used to that. Sixty seconds is a long time, though.”

YE-03Z3 stared at the microphone being offered to him. Slowly, he reached out – then snapped his hand back as if he had been burned. Zakos were programmed from the day of their creation to be pointed in a direction and go. Making decisions for themselves was not an executable variable. Despite training to be pointed in a direction and told to  _go_ , there were still too many unknowns. Accepting the token wouldn’t be the equivalent of staying quiet and doing as he was told by his designated superiors. He couldn’t move. He was  _afraid_. RD-111Z asked him what was wrong.

“What about the Commander?” YE-03Z3 felt his circuits crawl.

RD-111Z cocked his head. “What about him?”

“Don’t you think something like this would annoy him, zako?” YE-03Z3 shifted his weight from pede to pede, suddenly wondering if he could just  _bolt_  and not have the other mech try to chase him down. If he was as OCD as BU-2ZZ2 suggested, evading him might not be an option at this point. “Meetings are super important, zako. They would want us to take it serious.”

RD-111Z kept staring at him. Neither of the three gathered Zakos spoke. Finally, the soldier laughed. He wiggled his hand with the yellow microphone in it.

“Yellow,” he said experimentally. “Who do you think gave these to Lord Zapper Zaku?

**iv**

Commander Sazabi was gone. Dead or alive, it didn’t matter. Zapper Zaku was reprogrammed. Grappler Gouf and Destroyer Dom were helpless to take proper control of their soldiers. The Zakos were stranded in the interdimensional sinkhole of the Minov, refugees on the ghost of their beloved  _Magna Musai._

They prided themselves in being hard-hitting reporters, but the fact remained that the  _Zako Zako Hour_  had been in jeopardy  _long_ before Blue’s freak-out. And Yellow was just starting to discover that for himself.

“What happened today?” Yellow revved his engine comfortingly, trying to coax the younger Zako out of his hiding spot.

Blue had somehow managed to cram himself behind one of the large engines retrofitted by the Gundam Force. While the original  _Magna Musai_  layout had this room as weapons storage, it had since been converted into an engine room. Yellow wasn’t even sure what these engines powered, either. It might have been auxiliary power for the lights or the dozens of other rooms that the Gundams added to the ship. The ship’s main engines were still located in the port and starboard extensions. Yellow had no clue where the original _Zako Zako Hour_ theater was. At least the Gundams had been nice enough to keep it and move it to this room - whatever their motivations were.

When Blue didn’t respond, Yellow tried again.

The other Zako’s response somehow rose over the repetitive clatter of the machinery around him. “RD-111Z happened.”

The full name. This wasn’t good. Yellow couldn’t remember the last time the three of them used their entire designations for each other.

“Considering how many times you slugged him with a right hook, I had a feeling, zako.” Yellow tried to force a chuckle to clear the air, but the sound was swallowed whole in the noise surrounding them. Slowly, he eased his way between the engine and slunk down next to Blue. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get out after, but comforting his co-host seemed to rank pretty high right now.

The younger Zako said something to him while he was distracted.

Yellow sputtered. “What?”

“You heard me, zako” Blue looked up and revved irritably. The apertures in his optic were narrowed to pinpoints, and the pink light that bleed through was weak. “I quit. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

It took another few seconds for the words to sink in. “The show? Why?”

“Because there’s nothing left.” Blue vented angrily. He was off on a tirade before Yellow could stop him. “Look at us, zako. Ever since the invasion, we’ve been  _stuck_. There’s nothing for us to go back to and Red is acting like it’s fine and dandy. He’s pretending that nothing bad has happened to us, zako zako. I knew we were doing that stupid segment on timeline-fatigue-whatever _-_ you-call-it _,_  but for him to bring up the Commander like that and act like nothing was wrong...”

Yellow felt his internals seize uncomfortably. “You don’t think we’re going to get back to the Dark Axis, zako.”

“I know we’re not. If we were, it would’ve happened by now.”

He had never thought of it that way. It was a distressing thought. Zakos weren’t made for any life other than following the commands of their superiors and serving the Dark Axis. Generally when things went wrong for them, someone higher in the chain of command would miraculously pull them back from the brink. They weren’t built to reclaim themselves, especially from disaster.

But Sazabi had tortured them. Their squadron leaders were out of whack. Their ship was stolen. They were  _lost_. If this wasn’t a Disaster, then Yellow  _definitely_ feared seeing one.

“It’s a matter of time before the Gundam Force gets sick of us being here and kicks us out,” Blue said miserably. He curled in on himself, turning his head away. “We’re all gonna die out here, zako. And  _Red_  is so busy with his stupid show that he doesn’t even care. I don’t care if its some fragged up coping mechanism. I don’t want to be dragged down with him, zako.”

The two mechs sat in silence for a long time. As Yellow became accustomed to the sound of the engine, he could hear Blue hiccupping pitifully. He leaned up against him and the other mech leaned back.

**v**

**_GUNDAM MUSAI_ ** **** **ENGINE ROOM - ZAKO STAGE**

A SPOTLIGHT lights up on a closed metal CURTAIN. A projection of ZAKO ZAKO HOUR is displayed on the steel.

Zako!

       Zako!

              Zako!

**Zako Zako Hour!**

The curtain lifts after the familiar INTRO JIG, but only one ZAKO HOST is revealed to be waiting on stage. Z1 bows courteously, RED MICROPHONE in hand.

 **Z1** **  
** Ladies and gentlebots! Welcome to the  _Zako Zako Hour!_  Today’s meeting is all about— all together now—! What is the Academy!?

A handful of claps rise up from the audience. Only three or four other soldiers might be present. The CAMERA does not pan out to reveal the pitiful state of the house.

 **Z1**  
(upbeat)  
Well it looks like we’re reeling our audience back, zako! Being in Lacroa for so long must have been pretty jarring for everyone!

 **RANDOM AUIDENCE MEMBER**  
(faraway sounding)  
Where are the other two, zako?

 **Z1**  
(cont.)  
As most of you already know, we Zako soldiers aren’t very good a being leaders on our own. We rely on squadron leaders and commanders to make most of the big decisions for us, zako zako.

A beat passes. The audience does not respond, and Z1 has no co-hosts to back him up with witty commentary. Someone in the small audience coughs. Z1 seems to become aware of how  _awkward_ this is and chuckles nervously.

 **Z1** **  
** A-anyways, zako. Uh... the Academy isn’t actually a  _school,_ zako. It’s a place in the Dark Axis Fortress where Zakos, Dogas, and other low-ranking Axians go to be Reformatted.

The audience is silent. Without his co-hosts to fall back on for banter, Red stammers and forces himself to make an explanation.

 **Z1** **  
** Heh, right, uh... Professor Gerbera makes Commander AIs from scratch, but Doga Commandos, Color Guard agents, and squadron leaders all used to be grunt Zako and Doga soldiers.

Z1 steps to the side, gesturing to the view screen behind him. It shows the silhouette of a Zako soldier and a Doga Bomber. Above these silhouettes, candid renderings of Zapper Zaku, Zako Red, and Doga Grey appear. A Zako in the house starts crying at the sight of the latter.

 **Z1**  
(slowly regaining his confidence)  
Because creating  _truly_  efficient AIs is difficult and time consuming, it’s a process usually reserved for making new commanders. For everyone else, Gerbera simply recycles grunt soldiers who have proven themselves. They’re taken deep into the Dark Axis Fortress where their memories are wiped and their bodies are repurposed. This is called the “Academy.” They wake up completely different, zako. To be considered for reformatting is a great honor, but also very...

There is no visible response from the audience. Red stares out into the small crowd.

 **Z1**  
(quietly)  
W-well. Usually we can make light of these very terrifying issues, zako. But without the others...

Again, Red goes quiet. He stares into the crowd, looks at his microphone, and then glances on either side of him where his missing co-hosts would usually stand. Red finally sighs and lowers his mic, bowing his head and exiting stage right. The curtain doesn’t close. A murmur falls over the crowd as the spotlight cuts out.

The show ends.

**END SCENE.**

**vi**

Every Commander was linked to their respective Musai. This was done for several reasons, all of which were supposed to benefit the integrity of the ship and its assigned crew. Damage sustained could be detected at its source by a Commander, and dispatched repair crews could be directed to the source of the problem. It allowed for an insane reaction time to significant breaches. It also meant that Commanders would be the first to receive news of intruders. Again, this allowed for a prompt response to eliminate the problem.

(Unfortunately, a Commander’s connection to their ship was severed when they were far away. The day that the human hitched a ride on the Komusai and set their prisoner Gundams free, Commander Sazabi had been out on business at the Fortress.  _Any_ self-respecting  _Magna Musai_ Zako tried not to remember that day. ME-ZT69 was still afraid of heights after the boy led him to fall right off the side of the ship.)

Despite the efficiency of this link, the connection between a Commander and their vessel was not inherent to their base programming. Musais were usually abandoned after they became Horns of War, simply because it was easier to construct new ships than dig out the originals. Nightingale’s  _Black Musai_ had been left behind in Lacroa for this very reason. Qubeley’s  _Enclave Musai_ was still probably buried in the brambles of her Horn of War left in Kibaomaru’s territory, shortly before he agreed to join forces with the Dark Axis and started his campaign to conquer the entire nation. Then again, he thought he heard something about it being moved. The entire Ark conflict was a mess, honestly. Yellow couldn’t keep track of any of it.

A lifetime connection to a Musai meant that a Commander would have to either be scrapped or wiped after each invasion where a ship could not be recovered. The same concept applied to other extensions of a Commander, such as their funnels. But a Musai was not just a small device that could be easily controlled with a basic psycommu adapter. As such, the RAIMI system was put into place. The Recall Action Installment Musai Integration System was additional software added to Commanders to let them more easily control their ships. It was a standard non-sapient AI that allowed for easy transfers between ships.

When Commander Sazabi was destroyed, his RAIMI system should have been destroyed as well. Except it wasn’t.

He tapped on the lens until he got a response. At least the Gundam Force was efficient in security: he didn’t have to look hard to find one of the ship’s security cameras.

“Hello?” RAIMI’s voice had changed drastically since the last time he heard it - her? It was soft and the codec was oddly alien. Had they re-mapped the voice-module using one of the humans in the Gundam Force? “You are not supposed to be outside of the engine room.”

“I’ll go back in a minute, zako.” Yellow waved at the camera. The lens focused on him - yeah, she could definitely see him now. “Do you remember me? Or any of us, zako zako? You used to yell at us on the Commander’s behalf when we weren’t working fast enough.”

RAIMI paused. The aperture in the camera lens adjusted and ticked. Her voice came from a speaker overhead. “Yes. While my original memories as a Dark Axis AI are non-existent, my  _program_  memory was left intact. I know your designation. But I do not know you as an individual, YE-03Z3.”

“That’s okay. You’re not missing anything. At least you can tell us apart, zako.” He paused, resisting the urge to shudder at the memory. The RAIMI AI could function independently from their Commander, and often acted as a dual security system for their ship. The only thing scarier than the harsh RAIMI codec screaming in your assigned barrack that recharge-cycles were over was the Commander himself. “Is Sazabi alive?”

“That information is classified. The Dark Axis remnants on this ship are not supposed to be aware of Commander Sazabi’s current whereabouts.” The lens aperture rapidly closed and the camera ticked. She was caught off guard by his question.

She didn’t say no. He moved on. “Is the Gundam Force gonna throw us off the ship, zako?”

RAIMI didn’t answer. “I do not understand. Where would you go?”

Yellow made a hand motion, then realized that the ship AI wouldn’t recognize it. Unless the Gundam Force had included the ability to recognize gestures when they gave her a personality. He cleared his vocalizer. “Nowhere, zako. We’d be, you know,  _destroyed_.”

“That sounds unreasonably violent,” RAIMI said. Even  _she_  sounded concerned. “The Dark Axis remnants aboard the ship are a concern, but not considered a critical threat.”

Yellow wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or offended. “Nice.”

“May I ask  _you_ a question?”

“Huh?” Yellow flashed his optic. “Yes?”

“You are a host on the  _Zako Zako Hour_ , correct?”

“What—?” Yellow sputtered. “How did you...?”

“Cameras and sensors rigged to my AI are scattered throughout the ship. While I cannot view all the cameras at once, I am able to view these shows regularly. I find them entertaining.” She paused. The aperture in the camera lens twitched. “Why did RD-111Z perform alone recently?”

“BU-2ZZ2 and I are taking a break, zako.” Yellow shrugged. “We... we had a lot to think about.”

“I was not designed as a Neotopian AI. I was modified from a Dark Axis AI and given a personality module to allow me sentience.” The camera twitched, cocking itself and readjusting the lens appropriately. He felt like RAIMI was staring straight through him. “I know that I am a copy of a similar AI loaded into Sazabi to help him manage this ship. I do not have memories from my time in his possession. What was he like?”

Yellow sighed.

“That’s why I wanted to ask you if he was still alive. I don’t know,” he finally said. “I don’t think anyone  _really_  knows, zako.”

**vii**

Having experience with the  _Zako Zako Hour_  had its perks. Yellow wasn’t the most investigative of their trio, though he liked to think he was the most thorough.

But his resources in the Dark Axis were gone. And finding anything out about Sazabi – as a  _person_  – was next to impossible.

The obvious wasn’t hard to find a source for, though: Yellow understood first-hand how brutal the Commander could be. The first indication was when Zapper Zaku slaughtered Solitary Gyan. Rather than punish the then unnamed squadron leader (the title “Zapper” only came after he was promoted to a full colonel), Commander Sazabi praised him for his level of violence. They never even gave Solitary Gyan a proper sendoff. He was simply rolled off the side of the ship and allowed to plummet to the acid rivers below.

But the abuse went even further back - before Yellow was even programmed. The horror stories went on for hundreds of years. Dogas would be killed where they stood just because the Commander thought their posture was lacking. Zakos were struck down for hesitating on the battlefield. Past squadron leaders before the arrival of the current trio were abandoned, left in the clutches of any enemy because they were too stupid to survive unaided.

Commander Nightingale would dispose of soldiers. Commander Krieger would scold and maim them. But Sazabi was the crown jewel. He was lord and master over their very lives, willing to seize them into his crushing fist at a moment’s notice. Abandonment and corporal punishment were not his weapons of choice. Bestowing death onto those weaker than him was his forte.

Despite that, they – the  _Magna Musai_  Zakos – were all still alive.

“N-n-not as a favor, zako.” Showdown, SH-99Z6, said with his irritable trademark stammer. “H-he was t-too busy getting his a-a-a-aft k-kicked in, zako zako.”

The small group of green solders was gathered by the base of the  _Zako Zako Hour_ stage. Not many of them were willing to talk to him about such a sensitive issue (a lot of them were still hiding in various places on the ship to avoid detection by the Gundam Force), but those who  _were_  had quite a bit to say.

“I don’t even get why this is a question, zako.” WI-66Z10, Widget, rubbed the top of her head. The usually bright and energetic femme was visibly anxious over their topic. “I mean. There’s no way he’s still alive. We all heard him scream, zako. And the explosion—”

Cook readjusted his hat. His voice was grating to the point of causing physical discomfort. “What explosion, zako?”

Showdown looked at him, glared, and whacked his hat off the top of his head with an irritable swat. Cook squealed and dove for it.

“We did a  _Zako Zako Hour_  about that.” Yellow shrugged, twirling his microphone aimlessly. “Red thinks that there was like. Some kinda freaky timeline distortion or whatever, zako. Sort of like how we have footage of the Commander surviving when some of us remember him dying. The closer you were to the Horn of War, the more likely you saw the Commander bite it, zako.”

“That sounds fake, but okay, zako.” Widget sat up and twisted her vents. “Glad I missed  _that_ show.”

“Yeah, you only missed Blue beating the scrap out of Red.” Cook sat up, carefully placing his hat back on his head. Again, Showdown seized it and attempted to throw it. The hat was not aerodynamic, so it fluttered less than six inches away. Cook still dove for it with all the energy of the first time.

Despite being so confrontational, Showdown shrugged. “C-come to th-think of it, I’ve d-d-definitely seen weirder. Anyone wonder wh-where Zapper Zaku used to p-p-pull out his m-machine guns?”

“Or like when Lord T became a Gundam?” Chef trotted over, shuffling excitedly. “That was so  _cool_ , zako.”

“Lord Talgeese is dead.” Cook said, completely deadpan. Temporarily wiser from experience, he made sure to move out of reach of Showdown. “Just throwing that out there.”

“And s-s-s-so is the C-Commander.” Showdown revved his engine. “I m-mean wh-what’s the point of e-e-even talking about this, zako? The Gundam Force is p-p-probably trying to screw with us to get us to all t-turn on each other, just like Red and B-Blue.”

“Like we already  _haven’t_ , zako.” Widget said. “I mean. Only a few dozen of us even gather in here. Everyone else is hiding throughout the ship, zako. It’s as close to AWOL as they can get without going into the Minov, zako zako”

Yellow stopped twirling his microphone. “Look, zako. We’re all stuck in this together. We’re soldiers of the Dark Axis, we should be able to have a conversation about—”

“There’s t-t-two things I know f-f-for a  _fact_ , Yellow.” Showdown uncrossed his arms.

“One is that you can’t talk without a stutter, zako?” Cook asked.

Cook’s hat was out of reach, but his face was not. Showdown punched him. His closed fist collided with the side of the other Zako’s vent and sent the poor mech stumbling. Despite the blow, Cook’s first reaction was to grab for his hat so it wouldn’t leave his head again.

Yellow immediately looked away from the fight and sought out the squadron leaders, wondering if his mock interview was going to be interrupted before he got anything interesting. The engine room was quiet today. Destroyer Dom looked up worriedly from where he was watching Zapper Zaku furiously mop the same spot for the tenth time in an hour, then turned his head. Yellow followed his gaze. Despite any previous intervention to dissent among the soldiers, Grappler Gouf was unresponsive. The squadron leader was perched on top of one of the engine cylinders with his back turned on everyone. He had been far more... moody as of late. Yellow wondered if he was okay. Probably not. Destroyer shuffled helplessly.

“I kn-kn-know  _three_  things for a f-fact, zako.” Showdown held up three digits. “One is th-th-that  _that_  guy is an idiot.”

Fair enough. The gathered Zakos quietly nodded in agreement. Even Chef was nodding. Friends or not, that comment about Talgeese’s demise stung.

“T-t-two.” Showdown ticked off one of his fingers. “The C-C-Commander tortured us b-b-back in Neotopia, zako. He didn’t c-c-c-care about us. We were p-pawns, just like we were b-built to be, zako.”

He ticked off another digit. One more left.

“One.” He revved his engine. “W-we were on our own b-b-before the C-Commander even bit the dust.”

**viii**

**_GUNDAM MUSAI_ ** **** **ENGINE ROOM - ZAKO STAGE**

A SPOTLIGHT lights up on a closed metal CURTAIN. A projection of ZAKO ZAKO HOUR is displayed on the steel.

Zako!

       Zako!

              Zako!

**Zako Zako Hour!**

The curtain lifts after the familiar INTRO JIG, but only one ZAKO HOST is revealed to be waiting on stage. Z2 does not bow, BLUE MICROPHONE in hand.

 **Z2**  
(with extreme irritably and sarcasm)  
Ladies and gentlebots! Welcome to the  _Zako Zako Hour!_  Today’s meeting is all about— all together now—! What the frag is  _wrong_  with all of us?

The audience is silent. No one says anything.

 **Z2**  
(cont.)  
I mean sure! Look at us! We’re the pinnacle of the Dark Axis invasion forces. We’re apex soldiers in a never-ending war to dominate the multiverse, engineered by Professor Gerbera himself. We’re durable, tough, don’t explode nearly as often as Doga Bombers – and we’re also as dumb as sack of hard cold  _slag_.

 **RANDOM AUIDENCE MEMBER**  
(faraway sounding)  
That’s not very nice, zako.

Z2 flings his microphone into the audience with all his strength. There is a resounding  _CLANG_  and a pained Zako soldier squeal. The audience murmurs in a mix of shock and disbelief. Someone starts crying.

 **Z2**  
(shaking, enraged)  
SHUT UP! All of you just shut up and  _listen_  to me, zako! This isn’t up for debate. I’m a Zako soldier too, and even _I’m_ acknowledging this. We’re stupid. We were  _designed_  that way! There’s a reason why there are more Zakos than Dogas, or even any other Dark Axis unit. We were mass produced with the cheapest materials and most basic programming to be expendable. Yet no one is willing to admit it.

A beat passes. The audience does not respond. Even without co-hosts to fall back on, Z2 is on a tirade. There’s no stopping him.

 **Z2**  
(cont.)  
None of us were supposed to make it this far. There was a reason Sazabi had us stay back and guard the Horn of War without other orders to fall back on. We only had one directive for the invasion because we were disposable. We’ve  _always_  been disposable, zako zako. We weren’t made to be leaders or make our own decisions because being disposable was all we were intended for.

Once more, there is no response from the audience. Z2 vents heavily.

 **Z2**  
(quietly)  
We’re all gonna die out here, zako. Even if we did make it home, we’d just be recycled into the next big invasion and made to do this all over again. And plot twist – pretending to have a life just because it’s comforting still isn’t living. It’s just dead Zakos pretending they have control over their destinies. Which we don’t, zako. I get that. I’m owning up to it. Because I’m tired of pretending that this is all going to be okay somehow, zako. Sazabi was right to treat us like scrap, because that’s what we are.

Dead silence.

 **Z2**  
(quieter)  
How’s it feel to be disposable like the rest of us, Commander?

Z2 stares into the crowd, then turns and exits stage right. The curtain doesn’t close. There’s no sound as the spotlight dims and cuts out.

The show ends.

**END SCENE.**

**ix**

FB-3366, Fireball, scrambled into the engine room in a blind panic. It was the loudest Yellow had ever heard the femme yell. Her optic was flared in terror. “Lord Grappler Gouf is fighting the Gundam Force by himself, zako! He’s gone  _crazy!”_

Zapper Zaku, previously in the midst of forcing everyone to mop the engine room for the seventh time in two hours, immediately bolted for the door. By this time, no one was surprised. It was unknown how far the colonel’s reprogramming had him bogged down, but if his ability to reuse his machine guns was any indication? The original Zapper was still ready to claw his way back to the surface.  _When_ that would happen was another question entirely. And his relationship with Grappler – clawing and violent and  _passionate_  as it was – was an even potent a fix than any hair-trigger in the universe. The maroon squadron leader was off like a bullet and Destroyer Dom rolled after him. A handful of Zakos followed. Yellow and Red were two of them.

It was the first time the other  _Zako Zako Hour_  host spoke to him since the botched show days earlier. Red’s voice was hollow. “What do you think he’s trying to do, zako?”

“I wasn’t paying attention to him, zako.” Yellow suddenly felt guilty. They saw Blue’s tirade about being stupid, but there were different levels of stupidity amongst the Zakos. And the fact was that the  _Zako Zako Hour_  hosts were not necessarily of average Zako intelligence. They noticed things. They could pay attention.  _They should have seen this coming._ Of course Grappler was going to go on the fritz. The all reacted negatively to Zapper’s reprogramming, but Lord Grappler Gouf took it the hardest.

The deck of the  _Gundam Musai_  was in pandemonium. The shouting echoed in the strange space that made up the Minov, reverberating off the walls like a massive amphitheater rather than a negative zone between dimensions. Much to the dismay of the Samurai Gundam, both of Bakunetsumaru’s swords were lost in Grappler Gouf. One pierced through his shoulder, the other was embedded deep in his midsection. The cobalt squadron leader staggered as he tried to pull it free by the blade. No one knew where he had recovered his claw attachment. He likely stashed it somewhere in the  _Magna Musai_  before the failed Big Zam invasion, and the Gundam Force simply hadn’t found it when they refurbished the ship. The gauntlet was visibly damaged from overuse in this particular fight. One of the talons was even missing, embedded in Zero’s shield as he stood between Grappler and the other members of the Force.

Genkimaru was shouting, trying to scramble past the human boy who was restraining him. The young Musha sounded terrified. “Grappler, what are you doing!? You’re part of the Genki Energy Force! I never gave you the order to attack!”

“He’s gone  _mad!”_ Zero was currently keeping him at bay with his sword, using his body and the extended blade to further the distance between them. Despite this blatant warning, Grappler kept staggering forward. Condensation dripped from his armor and vents as his body cycled furiously to cool itself. His optic was flared white.

Captain advanced. In his clenched fist was the disengaged hilt of an energy saber. “Grappler Gouf, I’m warning you! Stand down and withdraw!”

Yellow expected Grappler to drop a witty one-liner. Instead, the blue mech  _screamed._ It was agony laced, but never from the samurai’s swords. He pivoted his body, distended his claws so they locked into place, and charged headlong towards the waiting Gundams.

Zero sidestepped, thinking that he was Grappler’s intended target, but that was never the case. Grappler used the knight’s own motion against him as he swatted his sword away. The blow was hard enough to send the caped mech spinning to the ground. Zero had grace, but Grappler had precision. Another claw cracked and shattered. By now Captain Gundam had already activated his pepsaber and positioned it accordingly. Yellow didn’t think Captain would kill him, but the thought ran through all their heads. The events of the invasion replayed in all their minds.

It must have occurred to Zapper Zaku too, because in spite of his reprogramming, he sprinted across the deck and rammed full force in Captain Gundam.

“If anyone’s gonna beat the scrap out of Grappler, IT’S GONNA BE  _ME_  YOU CHEAP ANIMATED DUMPSTER!” The maroon squadron leader brandished his mop and twirled it as Captain rolled back on his heels. The makeshift weapon was brought down through the air hard enough to send a  _crack_  resounding through the Minov. Zapper had it poised at the leader of the Gundam Force like a legitimate weapon.

Bakunetsumaru sputtered in indignation. Zero choked. Grappler Gouf skidded to a halt, shaking with rage and  _staring_ at him.

Then the squadron leader staggered and went down hard, face first, into the deck.

Zapper heard the crash. He never took his optic off the Gundam Force, posture rigid and defensive, but his voice cracked. “DOM!”

Destroyer could move lightning quick when he wanted to. The ex-berserker skated forward and braked using his knees when he skidded next to Grappler. He was quick to dislodge the swords from their trio’s second with shaking servos. The damage appeared superficial at first glance (there would be no salvaging the claw-arm in its current condition), but there was no telling how bad the squadron leader’s internals had been affected. Both swords were stained with dark fluid. His engine was racing dangerously and sputtering with effort.

“What are you standing around for, you suffering simpletons!? Get him  _out of here!”_  Zapper Zaku’s visor flipped down over his optic. The suicide-guard down its center did nothing to dampen the flash of red that erupted from his optic. The maroon mech’s engine roared with the ferocity he had always been known for – reprogram-bugged processor be damned.

Destroyer Dom dragged Grappler away from the chaos. The Zakos were quick to follow while Zapper Zaku took up the rear. The Gundam Force seemed plenty fine to just let them retreat.

When they got back down to the engine room, Zapper Zaku helped Destroyer Dom move their third to the front of the  _Zako Zako Hour_ stage. By now the wounds had started to drain profusely. The distinct smell of a shattered fuel line and penetrated the stale air. Grappler Gouf wasn’t moving.

“Don’t just stand there! Which one of you moronic dispensers is a medic!?” Zapper collapsed in front of Grappler and grabbed him by his shoulders, giving him a hard shake. He paused. “AND SOMEONE CLEAN UP THIS MESS OF AN ENGINE ROOM, IT’S  _FILTHY!”_

Zakos scrambled. CY-AZN, one of the few Zakos who actually had a shred of medic-class training, rushed in to evaluate the situation. Zapper stayed with Grappler, cursing obscenities but never once leaving the other mech’s side. It wouldn’t be another day until the younger colonel came to.

Red’s voice was soft. “I don’t think Zapper Zaku is reprogrammed, zako.”

“Me either,” Yellow said, but he knew they would never be able to prove it. Zapper Zaku was taking the act seriously, to whatever means he was trying accomplish. It didn’t matter. What  _actually_ mattered was the reckless display that Grappler Gouf had put on. “I don’t get it. Why would Lord Grappler Gouf challenge the Gundam Force by himself?”

“Maybe he didn’t think he’d walk away from it, zako,” Red said. “If I was a powerful warrior like him, that’s what I would do if...”

The other Zako trailed off. When Yellow turned his head to see why he stopped, Red was already long gone. He didn’t need him to explain, though. He could piece two and two together. When Grappler Gouf regained consciousness and had his armor patched up, he acted as though nothing had ever happened. But there was no denying that the experience had changed him. He carried himself the way Blue did. He sounded like Red.

In a way, as a Zako soldier, Yellow was comforted.

Even the Axians  _less_  disposable than them had lost hope.

**x**

Then again, the Dark Axis was never supposed to be built on hope.

And ironically? Their Commander gave a  _lot_  of soldiers hope.

Yellow was rolled off the factory floor four hundred and ninety-three years after Sazabi was unleashed on the multiverse. His first appearance had been at the scene of the Cyberian solar system invasion, headed by Commander Kikeroga and their  _Prota Musai_. The target of their invasion had been a space station nestled between the ruins of two mined dwarf planets, tethered into place with the largest debris. The settlement consisted of multiple floating sections, which remained safe in orbit beyond a large gas giant’s frozen rings. The cosmic “snow” that floated in this vast territory was the dimension’s calling card. Cyberia had been the most recent targets of the Dark Axis during that era, and that era undoubtedly belonged to Commander Kikeroga: one of the oldest serving in the Dark Axis, minus Gerbera and the General themselves.

But the era was robbed from them. It was almost robbed from  _all_ of them.

While the humans of Cyberia were hardly battle-savvy, their robots made up for it tenfold. Aubro Agg, Kikeroga’s squadron leader, was killed during his very first reconnaissance mission. The  _Prota’s_ Komusai was destroyed after logging less than four mission hours. An entire squadron of a Zako task force was lost to a brutal Cyberian hunting squad sent to neutralize them. And the  _Gundams_ of Cyberia were even worse. Unlike the gravity-bound robots, they were space-worthy and quick moving. Not even the Doga Commandos stood a chance. Doga Red had been captured and beheaded, with both pieces flung back through the Zakorello Gate to the Dark Axis as a warning. Doga Green was lured straight into an energy shield above the colony and disintegrated. Doga Black, a legend, went missing after being flung into the gas giant and was never heard from again. Zako Platinum was shredded by a Gundam using their bare servos.

All of that was  _before_  the humans were eliminated. As soon as the bagu-bagu were introduced to the colony, the robots went full guerilla. Not even space-modified Dogas could handle them.

Not even Commander Kikeroga could handle them.

When the final battle came, the  _Prota Musai_ found herself on the receiving end of heavy damage. The Dark Axis forces also found themselves saddled with an insane level of casualties. They were exposed and unable to deflect what the Cyberians were throwing at them, one of which was their boon: a retrofitted mining laser that decimated entire squadrons until only one full company remained (D was intact, all others dwindled with as few as four members in the A regiment). It was supercharged with massive plasma rounds with a low heat output until fired. It also meant that you couldn’t scan for the initial energy signature before it fired. If you felt its heat, it was already too late to escape. It nearly sheared the  _Prota Musai_  in two, and the only thing that saved her from instant destruction was her reinforced front plating: installed only after they lost their Komusai. For the forces that  _could_ try to get around the laser, the cover cover of asteroids and spacial ice provided a smokescreen. They had all the advantages and the Axians had no way to break through them.

The Dark Axis almost tasted defeat, and then  _he_ appeared. Red and and fast shining brand-new. A crimson jewel against the vacuum blizzard and veil of stars.

Professor Gerbera chose a pivotal moment to sic his newest creation on the enemy. Those who lived long enough to remember claimed that his very presence physically  _compelled_ them to heed his rallying cry. Even Commander Kikeroga submitted. The transition of power to the new arrival happened in seconds, driven by a raw mix of elements. In order...

Fear.

“Cyberians! Hear me! I am Commander Sazabi. It is my pleasure to conquer you.”

Obedience.

“Surrender to the Dark Axis, or be destroyed here and now. Those are your only options. Choose quickly.”

 _Hope_.

The Doga squadrons were commanded to make a final run on the enemy, which they did for the glory of the Dark Axis. The  _Prota Musai_  was commanded to suicide herself. It’s RAIMI system AI de-synced from Commander Kikeroga and immediately linked to Sazabi. The ship, once the most pristine in the entire invasion fleet, became the very bullet to execute her own mercy killing. She slammed into the Cyberian solar system colony, shearing it in two just as the mining laser had almost done the same. Remains of petrified humans,  _living_  humans (now  _very_  dead), and their precious air escaped into the ice ridden space in a burst of glorious heat. The ion blast and shockwave consumed those caught in its path, death incarnate. The Gundams shrieked in their horror while the Axians cried in triumph. The odds had spilled back into their favor and the momentum never slowed.

The remaining enemy robots not already obliterated by a shower Sazabi’s beam weapons were corralled by a pack of adamant funnels. The final swan song for the Cyberian mecha was the Commander’s ventral photon cannons.

It was glorious. Even Commander Kikeroga bowed in disgrace before the might of Commander Sazabi. Their crown jewel had been christened.

“Standby to remove the  _trash.”_

Neotopia had been the Dark Axis’ first taste of defeat, but it was never as extreme as the loss that the Cyberian solar system almost was. Even when victory was about to be ripped free from the clutches of the Dark Axis, they somehow prevailed. Their losses  _there_ had been even more significant than the losses in Neotopia. And in Neotopia, they actually  _did_ lose.

The Zakos were still alive.

Their squadron leaders were still alive.

Even the  _Magna Musai,_  the shadow of their once crown jewel, was still alive.

Commander Sazabi brought hope to the soldiers of the Cyberian solar system. A stranger to their forces, who revived their will to survive and flourish when all Hope seemed lost. But Sazabi was gone. Whether he was killed on the Horn of War or killed sometime more recently in Neotopia (regardless of timeline fatigue or  _any_  other dimensional anomaly) didn’t matter. He wasn’t the same Commander Sazabi that saved the efforts of the Dark Axis soldiers in Cyberia. To the Dark Axis soldiers of Neotopia, he was their Kikeroga. He had failed them. He couldn’t hold them up, so they would have to stand their own ground somewhere else.

And they would find Hope there, too.

(Heh. Maybe joining the Genki Energy Force wasn’t such a silly idea after all.)

**xi**

**_GUNDAM MUSAI_ ** **** **ENGINE ROOM - ZAKO STAGE**

A SPOTLIGHT lights up on a closed metal CURTAIN. A projection of ZAKO ZAKO HOUR is displayed on the steel.

Zako!

       Zako!

              Zako!

**Zako Zako Hour!**

The curtain lifts after the familiar INTRO JIG, and one ZAKO HOST is shown to be waiting on stage. Z3 bows courteously, holding his YELLOW MICROPHONE close.

 **Z3** **  
** Alright, zako, I’m just gonna cut to the chase here. We zakos need to have a serious talk, zako zako.

The audience chatters curiously, then grows quiet. It sounds as though they actually have a decent number of audience members in the house.

 **Z3**  
(cont.)  
A few hundred years ago, the Dark Axis invaded the Cyberia solar system. Everyone knows this because we soldiers in the Dark Axis like to cling to all these old stories that reinforce how strong we are, zako. But the second we stop  _being_  strong, we just... sort of fall apart, zako.

The audience is dead silent. Slowly, there is a rising murmur of agreement.

 **Z3** **  
** How many Zakos died in Neotopia, zako?

Silence. There is no sound whatsoever from the house.

 **Z3**  
(laughs, but it sounds hollow)  
I mean. We’re only Zakos, zako. We’re not very bright but we can still definitely count, right? And by my count, I think all of us stationed on the  _Magna Musai_  made it, zako zako. I think the only casualties we had in Neotopia were. Well. Everyone else who wasn’t  _green_ , zako.

Again, there is another beat of silence. Yellow slowly steps back with a level of energy that seems  _too_  calm for a  _Zako Zako Hour_ , gesturing to the view screen behind him. It flashes and shows the wreckage of a SPACE STATION floating amongst scattered ASTEROIDS.

 **Z3**  
(cont.)  
This is the Cyberian solar system, zako. It consists of multiple city sized space stations and a smaller hub used as the colony’s capital. It was the site of one of the Dark Axis’ most intense invasions where we almost lost, zako. It was also the site where Commander Sazabi was first revealed to our army.

The screen replays footage from the invasion in question. How  _anyone_  got this footage is a mystery.  _Courtesy of[“Zero-Sum Games” by BetterBeMeta](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8889181)_  is written in very small print in the bottom right-hand corner of the footage. A Zako in the audience begins crying in terror at the mere sight of BetterBeMeta'sname.

Stage left, Z1 pokes his head out. He glances at the view screen, then looks towards Yellow and slowly tilts his head. He is clutching his own RED MICROPHONE.

 **Z3**  
(cont.)  
Even when Commander Sazabi took out a huge portion of our own soldiers, they still had some hope. And hey, look at us! We walked away with  _way_  more than they had. It’s not that our own issue isn’t  _bad,_ zako, but it’s better to look at the glass half-full than half-empty.

Stage left, next to Z1, Z2 appears. He is also clutching his own BLUE MICROPHONE. Both Zakos pause and look at one another. Z2 do not appear to be immediately intent on MURDERING the other mech. Z1 is RELIEVED.

 **Z3**  
(chuckles)  
I mean. C’mon, zako. When we were lost underground in Lacroa, we were all doing  _better_  than this. Look at us. Just the possibility of the Commander being alive this whole time has got our cables in a twist. We don’t need him, zako. However his story ends is up to him. How  _our_  story ends is up to us. What we lost shouldn’t matter. What we can  _reclaim_  should be what we focus on, zako zako. It doesn’t mean that our experiences before are invalidated, but it means we shouldn’t let them to control us so negatively.

Z1 and Z2 finally come downstage, shuffling disgracefully. Yellow steps aside, unfazed, to his normal spot stage right. Z1 and Z2 won’t look at each other as they take their spots.

 **Z1**  
(quietly)  
I’m sorry I let the show get between us, zako. I didn’t even know you were feeling so sad and depressed over our situation until it was too late. I guess I was using the show as an escape to not deal with our problems in canon, zako.

 **Z3**  
(to the audience, deadpan)  
Even though the veil between canon and non-canon is pretty thin at this point, zako. We’ll have a _Zako Zako Hour_ later on and probably not even acknowledge that any of this—

 **Z2**  
(sighs, cutting Z3 off)  
And I’m sorry for blowing up at you, zako. I just... all this talk about the Commander being alive and never once trying to help his us while we were stuck in the Minov was super depressing, zako.

 **Z3**  
So are you two done fighting and not talking to each other, zako?  
  
**Z1**  
(laughs)  
I guess so, zako. I’m sure glad I have you both as co-hosts again!  
  
**Z2**  
(also laughs)  
Yeah, zako. I mean. Look. Sazabi let us down. But if he  _does_ somehow survive, like, in whatever timeline this is... we can be all happy about it when we’re back on solid ground, zako.  
  
**Z1**  
That should be soon! There’s only fourteen episodes left in the season!

Z3 and Z2 look at Z1 skeptically.

 **Z2**  
Don’t do that, zako.  
  
**Z3**  
That doesn’t sound like a lot of time.

 **Z1**  
Trust me, they can stretch this kind of writing out for ages, zako.

The stage  _jolts_. The _Zako Zako Hour_  hosts go down. The CAMERA shakes and several ZAKOS go hurdling across the screen from the force of whatever has just happened. An ALARM starts to blare.

 **SHOWDOWN**  
(offscreen)  
P-P-Professor Gerbera! He’s on th-th-the ship!

Z2 and Z3 stare at Z1 as they scramble to their pedes.

 **Z1**  
(nervously)  
Yeah. I mean. No one is even going to talk about this for another thirty-thousand words, but that’s okay! We’ll be fine. So long as we got each other, zako zako!

 **Z3**  
(tearfully)  
It’s probably gonna be longer than that because of formatting hell and procrastination, but that’s okay! I love you guys, zako.  
  
**Z2**  
(also crying)  
Same, zako!  
  
**Z1**  
(sobbing)  
Come here you two!

All three hosts EMBRACE. The curtain falls and the OUTRO-JIG for the ZAKO ZAKO HOUR plays. The CAMERA zooms out to reveal the AUDIENCE in a blind PANIC as the ship rocks once more.

**FADE TO BLACK.**


	11. Doga Yellow

**It’s just like him to wander off in the evergreen park,**

**slowly searching for any sign of the ones he used to love.**

**She’s just like him, spoiled rotten confused by the life she’s been fed,**

**and she’s searching for no one (but herself).**

**And this time I think you’ll know...**

**You can make it out.**

**You will live to tell.**

_You’re Not Alone_  - Saosin

**i**

He died Three times in exactly One hundred and twenty-five seconds.

Their greatest boon and only true weakness was that the Four were wirelessly linked. It was the same Newtype Network utilized by the Doga Bomber flocks, though loaded with admin privileges that let them resist standard grunt-behaviors. Mass suicide protocols and maximum forced–obedience codes did not exist in their software. They could make managerial decisions and improvise in a way that their lower-ranked counterparts could not. They were masters of the sky and their assigned Commander’s will, armed both physically and mentally to succeed as their dragons. As a team, their connection to each other made them a unified entity. If the Commander did not bring swift death, the One that their combined consciousness created _would_.

Unfortunately, the Doga Commandos and their entire legacy died in Neotopia.

The mission was supposed to be easy. They were assigned to breach Neotopia’s dimensional airspace during Phase Two of the Operation, once the squadron leaders finished their own assignment. With the Big Zam launched and the enemy force’s base out of the sky, the Commandos were instructed to enter the dimensional airspace with a platoon of their assigned Doga Bomber squadrons. They made a run on the city using control horn launchers, starting at the center of the human metropolis and working their way outward. The order was given and the Commandos split up with separate regiments to seek out individual targets and protect assets. Doga Blue and Doga Purple left together to engage enemies not tagged by the control horns. Doga Grey remained with Zako Red on security detail. Then _he_ was assigned to form a defensive position guarding the fallen Gundam Re–Equip Ring. The Gundam Force could not be allowed to retrieve it.

But Doga Yellow wasn’t a fan of crowds. Which was how he indivertibly found himself captured and shoved into a damn cage.

It was a mistake to let his assigned soldiers stray. Attempting to guard the fallen Re–Equip Ring alone was an ameteur error that he should have registered. As much as he hated being crowded by idiot grunts, he should have kept at least a few of them close by. When the first Gundam showed up, it wasn’t a problem.

But then there was the damn flier, _Guneagle._

The Gundam should have been easy to dispatch. It was hardly Doga Yellow’s first time to this kind of dogfight, anyways. One of his best kills had been in a dimension also populated by humans, several thousand years after a post–apocalyptic event that irradiated their planet. Radhaven was its name. Leftover radioactivity was still a palpable threat even within the few “safe” zones still populated. The organics worshipped technology as religious artifacts, and the populating Gundams were treated as gods. The Commandos had been dispatched under the command of Commander Qubeley to deal with the mounting Gundam threat during her invasion. They were no match against the Commandos – certainly not the weakling who challenged Doga Yellow to fight over a pre–apocalypse relic used as the enemy’s main stronghold. Doga Yellow tore the wings from the Gundam’s body before he could land a single hit. The humans shrieked for their fallen idol as the yellow Commando descended on them next.

Doga Yellow had slaughtered dozens of Gundams in the past with ease, so One more – especially some wounded idiot – shouldn’t have been a problem. _Shouldn’t_ have, but Guneagle was far more adversarial than he was prepared to respond to. He had no rechargeable laser weapons. He was out of ammunition after less than five minutes. Even injured, the Gundam was surprisingly resilient. He failed to stop Captain from reaching the Re–Equip Ring, and before he could retreat, a hard placed right hook to his helmet made him see binary. When he came to, he was imprisoned in a small _box._ No windows, pitch black. All his weapons had been stripped from him.

The first voice he heard was equally welcome and a headache all on its own. “Duuude, nice of you to, like, wake up!”

“Shut up,” Doga Yellow strained to his pedes, scanning his immediate surroundings. No such luck. Something had been deactivated. He couldn’t reach his arm high enough to touch the back of his head, but his sensor net indicated that the integrity of the metal had been weakened. Bumped, uneven... a soldering iron? “My software has been tampered with.”

“We are aware.” Doga Purple’s voice through their private Newtype Network was a welcome relief. “You were captured by the enemy approximately seven megacycles ago. It is already midday—”

“Well like. Not anymore, dude. Sun’s already blotted out.”

Doga Purple groaned. “It is still day by _definition_ , you insufferable idiot.”

“The Commander is here?” Doga Yellow felt his engine hiccup and seize. This capture would _not_ be good for his record. “When?”

“Recently,” Doga Purple said. “The city has been petrified and we are in an optimal position to force a surrender once the resisting defenders have been eliminated. Captain Gundam has been neutralized. Doga Blue and I are attempting to alleviate this world of the stray knight and samurai. And despite your capture, you _did_ adequately disable the flier that attacked you.”

“Dude, you almost outta ammo? I’m countin’ your clips. Ten cartridges. Switch to semi–automatic to conserve what you got. These Gundams are way tougher than those goons from Nucleus and Pharaht.” Doga Blue unloaded several rounds from his weapon into an enemy. While Doga Yellow’s immediate scanning equipment was non–functional, the Newtype Network shared with his fellow Commandos remained intact. Blue and Purple were making a run on the Knight and Samurai Gundams alone, having redirected their forces to—

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Doga Grey’s presence commanded the entire connection, demanding respect in his mere attendance. “Phase One of the Operation has failed. We have moved to the Phase Two and Phase Three with extreme prejudice. The Phase Four is pending the eradication of our enemies.”

“The control horns were destroyed?”

“The enemy had a failsafe that remotely hacked their programming, yes. Said failsafe has since been annulled, but we have no remaining horn launchers to scramble.”

“Yeah dude, it was sick—”

“Your presence in the conversation has been noted and is not appreciated. Desist.” Doga Grey was not amused.

“Agreed.” That was Doga Purple. “Your incessant arguing with the Musha Gundam is grating on my circuits.”

“Hang on losers— good, my laser rifle’s charged. Going back in for round, like, ten. This Gundam is givin’ _me_ a headache.” Doga Blue disconnected from their collective chat, immediately launching around his cover to reengage the enemy. His presence was still felt through the network, but at least he was being quiet.

“We meant to retrieve you earlier,” Doga Purple said. It was clear who the conversation was being redirected to. Doga Yellow could feel his half of the network pulse with the others’ presence. He was fighting with the knight, sending a barrage of bullets tearing across the sky as he tried to shoot the Lacroan down. “The Gundams have kept us busy. They refuse to die. We will collect you personally once they have been destroyed.”

“Doga Yellow, your platoon has converged with my own on the Horn of War to welcome the Commander. I will redirect them to your location as well.” Doga Grey was broadcasting that he was circling the base of the tower and working his way back up, following a patrol path that he had been routing for approximately forty–seven minutes and five – six – seven seconds. “And my position is the same as Doga Purple. We would have retrieved you sooner, but your situation was deemed to be non–emergency. They only detained you and do not appear to be engaged in an activity that will negatively impact your functionality.”

“Minus the fact I can’t scan for _scrap.”_ Doga Yellow felt along the walls of his cell. Smooth metal. He gave it a hard smack and it reverberated with a stiff pang. Solid. Whatever kind of box they had him in, it was sealed tight with no way to punch through without compromising his own armor integrity. “Any idea what I’m caged in?”

“I think it’s a damaged human airship, dude.” Doga Blue cackled, butting back into the link. He executed a somersault maneuver, avoiding the slash of twin katanas as he baited the samurai to attack him close range. “They, like, tossed you in and welded that fragger tighter than Commander Nightingale’s—”

“Under no circumstances are you allowed to finish that thought.” Doga Grey’s tone was warning. “Sharing a mind with you when you are _behaving_ is bad enough.”

It was degrading enough to be tossed into a cage. It was embarrassing that the enemy had impacted his processor’s immediate scanning functions, preventing him from “seeing” his surroundings while his fellow Commandos remained unhindered. It was _horrifying_ to know he was inside such a hideous organic contraption. “Absolutely disgusting.”

“What the— _hey!”_ Doga Grey shouted and broke off communications, but his half of the connection remained open for interpretation. There was a small explosion in the side of Neotopia’s southernmost tower, spilling smoke and fire onto a branch Horn of War’s brambles. Something small – not a Zako, taller and faster – darted out from the opening. A human that had survived the petrification process. None of the other Commandos were concerned, but how had it gotten _up_ there?

Briefly, it was the end of the conversation. Doga Yellow went back to mapping his cell. His sluggish processor managed to expedite its random–memory usage and fine–tuned his available sight settings... previously already _hindered_ as they may have been. At least the error came with a slight advantage. Even with his night–vision disabled, he could make out the faintest shift in contrast from wall to wall. His head fin barely had clearance and his wings were scraping the walls, but he could see the seams where they had sealed him in his makeshift prison. He plunged his digits inside, starting to pry apart of what used to be a door. He couldn’t tell if his flight system still worked, but he was more than prepared to take on whatever was out there. He wouldn’t underestimate the Gundam a second time.

Despite his software tampering, the full capacity of his connection with the others was intact. This included pain–sharing. A flash of heat and damage–receptive circuits came to life under his armor. The source was obvious: Doga Grey had been struck by a missile, a direct hit to his chassis that ruptured several fuel lines paramount to his flight array’s functionality.

“The frag was that!? Grey!?” Doga Blue’s voice was laced with panic. “Dude, someone just shot Darktide—!”

 _“No names!”_ Doga Grey, despite the amount of pain he was in, managed to partially mute its output between their collective AIs. He struggled to the top of a protruding bramble, gaining his footing milliseconds before he came under fire again. “Focus on the mission!”

“You took a bad hit, Grey.” Doga Purple, usually stoic and quick to disregard minor inconveniences, visibly broadcasted his concern. He avoided another barrage of – flower petals? Who the frag even used organic uas a weapon. Doga Purple ascended, shooting the last of his his missiles to disperse the tornado funnel that redirected towards him. “What happened?”

Doga Grey detached from the conversation mid–shout. He was able to flash a momentary block on his end of the link once more, but the muted _ache_ that resounded was a clear indication of what had happened. The leader of the Four was under heavy fire from a new enemy that managed to avoid their dozens of Doga squadron barricades. “The Gundam! That blasted— how did he survive falling in the ocean!? AURGH!”

“Blue, prepare to withdraw. We need to help Grey immediately _._ His position is compromised. I’m detecting a massive loss of fuel. Current tank reading is seventy percent from ninety in less than fifteen seconds. _”_

“He’s gonna lose lift if he doesn’t land! Hang on—lemme land a last hit on this slagger. I wanna leave this Musha a _scar_ to remember me by.” Doga Blue landed, pivoting on his heel and spinning on the asphalt of a battle–fatigued road. He discarded his fried laser rifle, rendered useless because of a nicked power cell, and drew his energy–saber. Blue light erupted from the hilt, crackling and sending a surge of feedback through his hand that the rest of the Four felt. Doga Yellow could feel his grip as it tightened on the sword. He could feel the scrape of his pedes on the blacktop as he spun. He felt the heat of his turbines erupt down his back as he surged back into the air.

The Musha shrieked something incoherent mid–flip. He lunged up at the same time that Doga Blue did, slashing twice with his swords and causing red–hot flames to lick out from the blades. Their paths crossed. They both missed each other.

Doga Blue cackled. “Nice try— _URGH!”_

He was killed instantly.

The Three who remained felt it like a laser burst through the processor. The fuel lines in Doga Blue’s legs overheated from contact with the flame–wielding Gundam. The explosion tore up his torso before wiping his processor and snuffing the youngest of the Four. The death was so sudden – unexpected – that they were each stunned. Doga Grey reeled and was unable to avoid another barrage of missile fire from the Gundam scaling the Horn of War. Doga Yellow instinctively grabbed for his midsection and legs, still feeling the _burn_ of the Musha Gundam’s swords tearing through him. Doga Purple could do nothing but hover in place with his arms locked and his mental trigger _crushed_ down, releasing a barrage of bullets at the Winged Knight in—

Doga Purple was hit.

Doga Grey _screamed._ “NO! VIOLENT, RETREAT!”

It was too late. Their leader’s use of a custom–designation was enough indication that the Three knew they would soon be Two. Doga Purple of the Four was cut down by a wayward slash by the Knight’s enchanted sword. The charged attack phased through him effortlessly, but the magic somehow severed all the internal components it touched. Three vital fuel lines were slashed and his sensors from the waist down were cut. The Commando was eviscerated from the inside out.

“They killed Navy,” Doga Purple said through the link. He was dazed. The world was still catching up to him and tilting on its axis in a dizzying plummet. His hands relaxed and he stopped shooting, his presence in the link spiraling into the abyss that Doga Blue – Navy – left behind. “They killed me.”

Doga Grey kept screaming. “No! NO! STAY WITH US!”

 _“But it’s impossible for me to be defeated!”_ Doga Purple’s last–second denial was a desperate cry for help. Unable to save him, Doga Yellow and Doga Grey would only brace themselves. The resounding explosion burst outward from Doga Purple’s core. He was slain instantly.

The Two _howled._

When Doga Yellow came to, he found himself trying to smash his way out of his cell. He clawed at the seams lining his prison until his paint started to chip, but the walls would not give. Solid Gundamium lining. Doga Yellow reached down their connection to find his surviving wingmate. The holes left behind by Navy and Violent were frigid and numbing. “COME GET ME! I CAN’T GET OUT! I NEED TO GET _OUT!”_

Doga Grey had no time to respond. A transmission channel opened across all broadbands.

_“Now that I have the souldrive, I can do anything. I control everything! Let’s take it out for a test drive, shall we?”_

As if the loss wasn’t bad enough, unimaginable agony surged through him. It affected Doga Grey too, because the already failing Commando instantly lost lift and careened sideways into the side of Neotopia’s northernmost tower. He was struck by bullets and additional short–range missiles from the Gundam scaling the Horn of War. Doga Yellow lost track of him in a sea of his own anguish that ran processor deep. This new pain was not the result of the deaths of his immediate comrades. It distracted him for a short time, but once the pain faded, he could feel Doga Grey _falling._ An explosion launched him upward over the lip of the Horn of War’s deck. He fell and didn’t move.

“Grey.” Doga Yellow trembled, reaching down the network and attempting to jostle the other mech back to his senses. “Darktide, get _up!”_

He couldn’t be alone.

_They couldn’t all be gone._

Whatever glitch caused the other mech to be unresponsive finally lifted. Doga Grey reached down the connection and grabbed for him in return. Despite their leader’s usual reserved demeanor, the Two survivors were shaken. Yellow could feel Grey’s disbelief and terror and _hurting_ spilling through the link. The power lines in his arm were cut and sparking. One of his wings had been blasted clean off. His internal battery was cracked. Four internal fuel lines were bleeding. “I’m badly damaged.”

There was no such thing as having _friends_ in the Dark Axis. Such a creature comfort was for lower lifeforms. If you were a scrub grunt with no prospect to survive more than a few battles, you lived in the presence of peers but died alone. But being a Commando was different. You lived and died in the presence of the Three others that shared your headspace. You learned their thoughts, respected their fury, comforted their _fears_ to ensure the success of the Quartet...

They had not been friends. They had been a single entity: One under the guise of Four. They were incomplete without each other.

“Don’t move, I’m coming to get you! _Hang on!”_ Doga Yellow _screamed,_ throwing himself at the wall of his cell. The metal didn’t even buckle. In such a small space, he couldn’t achieve the velocity needed to damage his prison.

Violent and Navy were gone. He couldn’t let them take Darktide too. Being more than half dead was not an option.

Despite his plea, something was – happening. Yes, Doga Grey was struggling to his pedes. The Gundam had arrived on the Horn of War platform and – it had an organic passenger? The human that Doga Grey had encountered was now _shouting_ at the Commander! Madness! Sazabi was impressed but not amused. Sensing that he had to do something, Doga Grey forced himself to stand with his fists clenched, as if he had the capacity to fight the Gundam himself. He was scarcely winning the fight to stay conscious.

Doga Yellow shook. “STOP!”

 _“NO!”_ Doga Grey was in sizeable pain. Every sensor in his abused limbs screamed for release. “Reinforcements have arrived, Yellow. I swore servitude to my Commander, and I must fight for him!”

Doga Yellow shook. His hands trembled ahead of him. He rammed into the wall again.

“Urrghh, I apologize Commander, please forgive me...!” Doga Grey couldn’t even lift his arm to salute. It hurt that much. He turned and took up an offensive posture. Zeong, was he... was he planning on engaging in hand–to–hand? He could barely stand! Speaking was becoming a chore as his own instinct to vocalize his pain. “I will... _immediately_... defeat this...”

Something was wrong.

Doga Grey went to look over his shoulder.

The sensation that bloomed over Doga Yellow’s body was warm and numbing. He jerked in place and confusedly arched into it, unable to determine what exactly had happened. Doga Grey had a similar reaction. Hot and oddly pleasant, it warmed both their aching internals and numbed their pain receptors. With the high processing speed of their CPUs, it felt like an eternity before they knew what—

Doga Grey’s thoughts shifted to horror. The leader of the Four – now Two – reached down to Doga Yellow and clung to the other mech in renewed terror. He was _afraid_.

_He shot us._

Commander Sazabi hadn’t just shot him. He was _actively_ shooting him _with his particle canon._ The numbing warmth of the vulcan blasts turned into an explosive heat that robbed Doga Grey of rational thought. The Commando leader’s atoms exploded and began to disintegrate all at once. It was agonizing. Doga Grey screamed, but the sound snuffed away as soon as his vocalizer was vaporized.

Doga Yellow’s vocalizer was intact, though.

He desperately clawed at himself and _shrieked._ It was One thing to being instantly killed and nearly instantly killed, but this. This was slow. This was _torture_. Unimaginable and raw, stripping away layers of metal and wires and sensors as the Two were ripped apart atom–by–atom. Doga Grey never let go from his half of their network, clinging to the other mech in sheer horror, made insane with grief and pain.

_We’re dying._

_He’s KILLING US._

_I DON’T WANT TO DIE DON’T WANT TO DIE DON’T WANT TO DIE DIE DIE DIE_

Doga Grey was gone.

Four became Three became Two became One.

Doga Yellow’s howls were swallowed by his prison.

**ii**

He jarred awake, drenched in condensation and shaking, coming to as birds chirped outside. Obnoxious silver sunlight streamed through the open windows. The curtains swayed in the summer breeze. The mattress that he had been leaning against was ice cold from how high his fans had been running.

For a split second, he wished he was back in the cage. At least that breed of torture had been predictable.

This? This was new. This was—

There were Three sharp knocks on the door. He twitched and unlocked the mechanisms in his legs that allowed him to recharge standing. He winced at the sound of his own voice. “Yes?”

“You shouted.” There was a pause. “Are you alright, Darwin?”

He gingerly tested his joints before making his way toward the door, careful to pry it open without damaging the fragile handle. The human _reeked_ of aerosol and other hard chemicals from her seat. She had been in the Paint Room again. She repositioned herself in the doorway on her wheels, flashing her teeth at him in what was supposed to be a friendly human gesture. To him, it looked menacing.

“Darwin?”

“I’m fine.” Trying to force his voice to be – cheerful – was an excruciating effort in and of itself. Especially after reliving a memory packet as vivid as _that_. “Just a data purge. It startled me.”

“Oh. You mean like a dream?” The human paused once more, mulling over his words like the stupid animal she was. “Was it about anything in specific?”

“No.” He hoped she would drop the subject. “Do you require anything?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk—?”

 _“No_. Do you require anything?”

The human was taken aback, and instantly he was worried. He had to resist another automatic response for his cooling fans to switch into high gear. Had he said the wrong thing? Was his tone of voice incorrect? Despite the organic worm’s physical reaction, she recovered quickly. Her face changed and she barred her denta in that “friendly” manner again. He didn’t know what to call it yet. He might have known had any of Robo House’s therapy been successful.

He supposed he should have been reprogrammed with the knowledge. Except the reprogramming didn’t work.

Not like the human was _aware_ of that little hiccup. And he was going to keep it that way.

The human was too cheerful sounding. Either it was a trap for him or a malfunction in her code. “ Just help getting downstairs, but not for another few minutes. I’m waiting for my newest painting to dry a little more. I’m going to reorganize my paints in the meantime. Meet me at the stairs in ten minutes?”

“Affirmative.” He closed the door before she could harass him further. He waited for the sound of her wheels rolling away before roaring his engine in frustration.

Four became Three became Two became One.

**iii**

It was a new breed of torture and a humiliation.

Doga Commandos were programmed to deal with the most intense wartime scenarios, all within varying parameters. They were trained from activation not to bend to even the most brutal interrogation tactics, torture and psychological warfare included. While Gerbera usually kept intel from them on a need–to–know basis, protecting Dark Axis assets _regardless_ of security clearance was a priority. Self–destruct codes were only used in emergencies, as every soldier could be useful until the very end. From the moment of their Reformatting at the Academy, they were drilled with combat testing and obedience exercises.

An adapted version of the strategy simulation _Stalemate_ was One of the many tools used by the Professor in this training. Whereas Commander AIs were stimulated using a version of the game where they were in control of the pieces, the Commando AIs were forced to run through hundreds of versions where they never directly played themselves. They were made to assist a computer instead, helping to defend resources that the computer accidently left exposed. Not only were they expertly groomed to fight, but they were dressed to be a Commander’s insurance policy. Where a Commander left an opening for the enemy to strike through, the Commandos were there to cast them into oblivion.

Doga Yellow knew what it was like to be tortured, but this? This was new.

This was what the humans called Hell.

Immediately after his capture (and experiencing the deaths of his Three wingmates), he couldn’t remember much. When he came to, he was in a facility with stark white walls and _humans._ He had dealt with the species dozens of times before, most recently in Solardiorama. They were loud, quick to scurry like insects when their nests were disturbed, and their slaughter was always _messy_. They bled foul fluids and _squealed_ if not disposed of correctly. Unfortunately, the humans of Neotopia’s Robo House could not be disposed of. He was their prisoner. They started calling him Patient Delta.

There were other Axians at the facility he was now forced to call home, too. He saw Zapper Zaku briefly while he was being dragged between examination rooms. He could _hear_ Sazabi’s temper tantrums from the opposite end of the base.

He expected to be tortured until he caved: until he was forced to reveal information about the Dark Axis. Information, fortunately, that he never had. Gerbra gave them data on a need–to–know basis, after all. He expected to face subsequent elimination for non–compliance. A prisoner that couldn’t serve a function beyond taking up space was useless. He was only One Fourth of a person now, anyways. Fractured.

Instead, they attempted to _reprogram him._

It was ridiculous. Their methods were... _bizarre._ He would periodically wake up in white–clad rooms after EMP forced shutdowns while they transported him throughout their base. Time was impossible to keep track of with his computer always on the fritz from the pulse–jolts, never mind the tampering they had already done. Most of the “therapy” sessions were done in a room with tele–paneled walls, allowing the humans to broadcast whatever they wanted and give the room the feel of being someplace else. A field of flowers was a popular pick. A packed city street with humans and robots living harmoniously was another. Another room was dedicated to dealing with holograms of humans and GMs. One of the more obnoxious rooms contained a stupidly undersized furniture piece and a single–view window that Doga Yellow could still see through with his heat–sensors. A therapist, always a human, would sit on the other side and try to talk to him about his feelings. Doga Yellow would usually throw the chair until they took him out.

They were never going to let him go. Not unless he relented and bowed. And if he didn’t? They couldn’t hold him forever. It was only a matter of time until they destroyed him.

One was too afraid to become Zero.

Faking the act wasn’t easy. He wanted to smack away the flowers given to him with all his strength, and the first few he tried to spare ended up swatted regardless or dropped in disgust. When he finally managed to hold One for more than thirty seconds, some deep–rooted part in his programming _forced_ him to chuck it. His “progress” attracted the attention of the facility’s lead researchers, who said he had a mean curveball. He would be good at _baseball,_ they giddily murmured. Maybe he would even be able to play for Neotopia’s all robot team! They were so excited to see he was making “advances” in his therapy when all he wanted to do was unhinge his emergency hatch and crush their skulls. When he finally proclaimed his _love_ for the humans, they understand ran him through additional tests. _Interviews_.

“Do you know where you are?” A fat and ugly human asked him. Doga Yellow wondered if it knew it was hideous.

Doga Yellow forced his voice to go higher. It was what some of the doctors did when they were pleased with him. It must have been a _happy_ behavior, because whenever he mimicked it they rewarded him. “I’m at my primary care facility! That’s where all robots go in Neotopia before they get allowed outside!”

The Three would have been rolling in their graves.

“Ah, so you think you were just made?” The human’s name was Dr. Nicholas Walker. Which was ironic, because the human’s gait was more of a waddle than an actual walk.

“Of course!” Doga Yellow flashed his optic, careful not to let it illuminate too brightly. Just enough to be inviting and not give away how _furious_ he was. He must have been a good actor, because the human didn’t flinch away. “Why else would I be here and not outside in the happy community!”

“Yes! Right you are!” The human seemed so pleased with itself, it was disgusting. The One wondered what the missing Three would think. The human stood up, waddled grossly around the side of his too small desk, and reached out to _hug_ him.

Doga Yellow wondered if he could reach around and just _crush him._ But no, there were still guards with weapons posted by the door. _Energy_ weapons. The make looked particularly dangerous, actually. That and Doga Yellow doubted that his arms would even reach around the human. Tentatively, he reached up – and hugged back. Awkward, but all for the act. All to ensure his _escape._

“Eureka! Success for a second time!” The human pulled back, throwing his arm around the Doga Commando’s back and giving him a jostle. Every fiber in the Axian’s body had to resist pulling away from the momentary perception of a threat. “Another mech cured! Robo House has done it once again!”

Doga Yellow wondered how long it would take to strip the meat from its bones, how much of its own flesh could be force fed to it before it either soiled itself or expired from blood loss.

(A second time? So Zapper Zaku must have wised up, too. The squadron leader wasn’t half as dense as he thought.)

(But the Commander... would he ever break? When would the humans give up and destroy him?)

(Good riddance. After what he did to Doga Grey, Doga Yellow would never forgive him.)

He was brought back to his cell and knocked out again. Typical humans. Even when he was “reprogrammed,” they still had to handle him themselves. A wise decision on their part given his apparent acting prowess, but a hassle nonetheless. His escape attempt would be further delayed.

When he came to, he was _not_ at Robo House. Most of his equipment was back online with the exception of access to his weapons. Fair enough. A scan of his holding cell revealed that it was made from integrally inferior carbon fibers and artificially mixed minerals. There were electrical components in the walls, but they were not linked to any weaponized EMP system or any notable security system. He went to activate his thrusters to blast his way out—

An error. His fight array had been tampered with! _Damn_ them!

A voice caught him off guard. There was a knock at the wall to his left— no, it wasn’t a wall. There was a handle and a visible outline that indicated it was a closed passage. A low–tech door? “Hello? Are you awake?”

“Yes?” He hesitated, reaching out to the notable handle. He pulled it open with as little force as he could manage, afraid the flimsy material would collapse under his grip. The knob groaned but remained intact.

A human was waiting in the doorway for him. It was down low – too low – and looking up at him with piercing grey optics. “Good morning, sleepy head! The guys from Robo House dropped you off this morning. Took awhile for the EMP charge to wear off, huh? Don’t worry, they only did that to make sure you didn’t panic during transport.”

He stared.

It took him a few moments to register _exactly_ what was wrong with the organic. For starters, it was sitting. It was parked in a chair with large wheels and its lower extremities were failing to render on his visual feed. He tried rebooting his vision center, blinking through a sea of static as he attempted to discern exactly what he wasn’t seeing.

Then it occurred to him.

The human had _no legs._

Doga Yellow struggled to maintain his composure. The second his act _cracked,_ he would go straight back to Robo House. _He had to survive,_ but had they seriously placed him with...? Maintaining his cover was his only hope—

The human made a strange sound. Laughter? Was this funny to her, somehow? “I know I look a little wonky. I had to have my legs amputated because of an accident. Anyways, I’m Miku. I’m going to be sponsoring you while you get integrated into society. But enough about me... how are you?”

This was absurd. Degrading. Not only had they stripped him of his dignity and forced him into servitude to a human, but it was a _defective_ human!

“Fine.” He lied.

A new breed of torture and humiliation.

**iv**

The human was designated Miku Anami. It was female and relatively young, but its – her – defect was newly acquired. Her legs had been lost during the attack by the Big Zam, when she was working in One of the tunnels underneath base’s launch pads. She was part of the Gundam Force’s maintenance crew. When the Big Zam came down, she was pinned and had to be extracted with the exclusion of her lower limbs. The appendages were likely still inside the base, if they had ever managed to get it out of the ground.

“So this is my house!” the human seemed so utterly pleased with herself when she gave him the “grand tour.” She moved her hands down and began to manipulate the wheels of her seated–transport. “Dr. Walker thought it was important to spread his patients across multiple settings, so you ended up with me in the countryside! This house is actually one of the first settlement homes built by humans a few hundred years ago, back when we first settled on Neotopia. I got it as part of an restoration project the mayor commissioned me for. I _really_ love art, so I thought it would be a fun experiment! We’re pretty far from the city too, so I get to avoid the hustle and bustle...”

When he was convinced they were the only individuals present in the house, he made to rip her head clean off her shoulders. Something inside his processor _clicked_ and he suddenly found himself unable to move. He went down with a crash, damaging the floor and causing the human to scream in terror.

“Oh my god! Are you okay!?” Oblivious to the fact that she had been in danger, Miku wheeled up next to him. She paused suddenly, making a face. “You...?”

The humans hadn’t been completely stupid. The moment he thought about hurting the human, some kind of security measure had gone off in his processor and locked down his motor functions. He scrambled to make up an excuse. “Oh no! I’m so sorry—! Dr. Walker warned me that my suppressed scripts might conflict with my new codes from time to time. You mentioned the city and I just...”

“You went down so hard, I’m glad you’re okay!” Miku grunted and leaned down as far as she could while still maintaining her posture in her seat. She felt along the back of his head and pressed _something._ External hardware had been added to him? His limbs immediately unlocked. Great. So no flying away and no grievously injuring the human to make an escape. Running was also probably out of the question _somehow_ , too. As he sat up, the human rumbled. “Did... do you even have a name?”

“Doga Yellow,” he said, and instantly regretted it. The Four came back to the forefront of his mind. Their awful deaths. He instantly locked up again and had to resist the urge to swear.

Custom designations were a privilege, given to soldiers with a high rank deemed to “properly” use them. Doga Yellow appreciated that he was ranked decently enough to have the option, but names made things complicated. Names made things _messy_ and _personal._ Even Doga Grey, Darktide, made sure to emphasize to the Four that going by a custom–name basis was out of the question in their line of work. Attachments and sentiments came with names. None of them could afford to be so attached to each other. Thankfully, Doga Yellow never felt the need to name himself. The other Commandos did – Darktide, Violent, Navy – but he was content just being Doga Yellow. Names could be used to make you feel more complete as person: and he was only One Fourth of a person anyways.

Miku unlocked him without question. Either she was stupid or plain clueless. “That’s kind of a mouthful. Is that really your name?”

He had to pick and choose his battles. He shrugged. “It’s not a custom designation. I was never given a name.”

“Well if you want, we can call you something else,” the human said. She paused, pursing her _mouth_ in an unattractive fashion (not to say that anything about humans could be considered attractive to begin with). “Something with a D? That way it’s not too unfamiliar. Darcy? David? Dante?”

Doga Yellow felt his insides lurch. _Human names._ This wasn’t just undignified. It was _degrading_.

She kept listing titles. Finally, after an agonizing amount of time dedicated to trying to tune her out, he nodded eagerly to One of the names that came up. Just to get her to stop. “Sure! That one sounds... _great_.”

“Darwin?” Miku’s voice rose an octave, as if his active participation in this “choice” had pleased her somehow. Doga Yellow wasn’t sure what was more hideous: her voice or the sound of the alien sounding name. “Alright! Sounds good, Darwin!”

He debated the pros and cons of ripping her arms off, so her upper–torso would match her lower–torso. He’d be doing her a favor, making her symmetrical. He locked up stiff as a board before Miku could use that disguising new name on him for a third time.

**v**

From what he could gather, the Operation had been a catastrophic failure.

His long–range radio was still functional, but he didn’t want to risk sending a ping, especially if humans had more monitoring equipment on him. Not that any survivors would respond, anyways: he doubted there were any. Any Zakos would have probably been destroyed, and the Doga Bomber flocks would have killed themselves after losing contact with their designated Commandos and the Commander. They were programmed with the suicide–programs at the forefront of their coding, and resisting its pull was impossible unless you were somehow _special_. Part of the reason Doga Yellow was promoted to a Commando may have been for this very reason, although he didn’t remember anything about his life before the Academy.

Well. Except for the One thing which hadn’t been fixed. And never would.

Miku’s home was nestled in the middle of a dense organic forest, choked with greenery – not the color, the plant life – and in the middle of nowhere. Even if he tried to run, he wouldn’t get far before he inevitably got stuck in the dense undergrowth. Running truly _was_ out of the question. Dogas were made for open skies, not confined spaces. He would be tracked him down, his faked reprogramming would be discovered, and he would be dragged back to Robo House to face execution. He had to keep the act up. Just for awhile longer. Just until he figured out how to make a proper escape.

Unfortunately, maintaining his strict act meant that he had to follow the orders of the defective fleshbag. Today he had been tasked to do some _weeding,_ which meant that the human wanted certain plants destroyed but others preserved. _Hypocritical._

“I would do it myself, but you know...” Miku looked down at herself. She had parked her wheelchair outside on the porch to show him the front property. It was overgrown with thousands of organic specimens. Clearing all but certain selected plants was going to be a logistical nightmare, but Doga Yellow had no choice but to obey and maintain his cover. “Walker said you love plants, so you’ll like this, right?”

The Three would have laughed at him.

With an angry heave that could have been interpreted as _enthusiasm_ , he ripped another plant out of the soil. The chore was more difficult than he would have liked to admit, given the instructions he had been asked to follow. The plants with the yellow flowers were considered weeds and needed to be removed, but it was... difficult for him to see which plants were the correct color. As “pretty” as Miku insisted they were, they choked the life out of other flowers that tried to grow up around them.

Miku had been confused about why the task was so difficult for him, too. From her seat on the porch, she had been reading a paper booklet of some kind. According to the language–software that Gerbera had installed prior to the Neotopia mission, it was an issue of _Fine Gardening_. She pointed to his armor. “You know what yellow is right? What you’re holding is an orange pansy.”

Yes, he knew what yellow was. It was just... difficult to see the _right_ yellow, and using his own armor as a point of reference was not as easy as the human tried to make it out to be. She wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t _make_ her understand. Not without risking his life for the other reason beyond his faked reprogramming.

(If they knew _he_ was defective...)

(What if they _did_ know? What if they had placed him with a defective human for a reason?)

For now, he had to fake that there was nothing wrong with him _and_ that he was reprogrammed. He would have to gain the humans’ trust to get his flight array back, and when he did? Maybe there was a chance that he could get a hold of the Dark Axis to recover him. He was a Commando, not some throwaway grunt. He could still be _useful_. The One was just One, but he had been part of something so much greater than himself. He couldn’t be discarded so easily. He had to believe he was still worth something, even if he was only a fraction of a person now.

The next thing he knew, Miku was calling for him. “Darwin?”

Damn! He had probably pulled the wrong color flowers again. He turned around and stared at her, trying to maintain an air of innocence. “What?”

The human was on the porch of the house, staring at him with a strange expression. And then she started to _laugh_ again.

“Oh my god.” She folded her small hand over her mouth. “Darwin— are you eating my mint plants?”

He reached up.

His jaw was unhinged and something _organic_ was _in his maw._ In his anxiety–ridden internal dialogue, he had unknowingly started processing plant matter.

Doga Yellow had to resist the urge to _scream_.

The Operation had been a catastrophic failure. And unless he could keep himself from going crazy, the One fragment of the Four who remained would also fail.

**vi**

Days turned into weeks.

Miku’s handicap was debilitating, although the human hardly treated it as such. She seemed oddly... _positive_ about the whole affair, even though he was sure that humans were never designed to exist without their legs. If you couldn’t fly, you walked everywhere. And Miku couldn’t even do _that_ anymore. What good was a human who couldn’t move around on their own? Every morning He had to help her get out of her bed, get into her chair, get up and down the stairs...

She was useless. He knew what they did to useless soldiers in the Dark Axis. As kind as the humans of Neotopia preached themselves to be, she was defective. Just like him. Sooner or later, the humans that were allowing her to live would simply dispose of her. He had no idea when, but it would be soon. He wasn’t going to be stuck with her for much longer.

But despite the human’s looming expiration date, other humans also seemed to be in denial of this.

Three times a week, Three different vehicles would arrive at the house. The first was a food delivery truck, since Miku was unable to obtain her own fuel without assistance. She had her own transport parked in the barn next to the old house, but without legs? Driving it was impossible. It was embarrassing enough that he had to help her make her meals, but stocking supplies was another matter altogether. He was a soldier, not some worker–drone of a Zako. The second vehicle was an SDG armored truck that would arrive with a Robo House worker to check in on him. The meeting was always brief, maybe five minutes at most. Dr. Walker was thankfully never among them. His act was holding up.

The third time a vehicle would arrive, it was always a white van with a local hospital logo on the side. Colony Central Hospital. Doga Yellow would have to wheel Miku out of the house and help load her into the car. The first time he was required to do this, there were Two humans waiting in the car.

The driver was a nervous, roundish looking human who didn’t get out of the van. He looked past Doga Yellow and straight at Miku. “Hey! You must be Ms. Anami.”

“Oh! Hello! You must be new,” Miku said with a grin.

When the door hissed open, Doga Yellow could see another human inside. Dark haired and tawny skinned, he was already adjusting One of the seats back to fit her wheelchair. The process was streamlined. He held down a lever and the affected seating area began to smoothly fold back and downward. He gave her a thumbs up. “How are you feeling, Miku?”

“Got yourself a new trainee, Wilson?” Miku laughed, airy and light. “You better be nice to him.”

“I want to hope Mr. Sturges is trying,” the driver said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. 

“Gabriel Quinn is getting his mech EMT certification from the hospital, but I’m training him in standard patient transit, too. Gotta be prepared for anything when you’re hired by the SDG and all that.” Wilson shrugged, going to get out himself. Miku insisted he was fine, _Darwin_ needed to be shown how to do this anyways.

“It’s no trouble, Ms. Anami!” The third voice came from the _vehicle._ It had an AI? The humans made robots out of everything stupid looking. “We, uh... I mean, that’s to say—”

“What Tailgate is tactfully trying to say is that we don’t want to stress out your friend too much. With him being so fresh out of Robo House, I mean.” Wilson looked around Miku as he helped pull her wheelchair onto a small platform that lowered next to the vehicle. It hissed, then began to rise upward. Then, looking at him, “Darwin, huh? How you like it out here?”

“It’s great!” He lied, wanting to rip out his own audio receptors at the sound of his voice. “I _love_ working for humans!”

Doga Yellow was increasingly aware that he was starting to recognize human facial features. Wilson’s face fell. “Is that all?”

He had said something wrong. Doga Yellow couldn’t find the capacity to backtrack without breaking character. “I— uh... is there more?”

Wilson and Gabriel shot each other a look. Even the _van_ shifted uncomfortably.

Miku was none the wiser. Once her wheelchair was fastened securely in place, she turned her head and waved. “I’ll be back from physical therapy in a few hours. Try not to get bored! You remember how to work the television, right?”

Absolutely not. “Sure thing!”

“You know, Darwin,” Wilson said, reaching out at the last second to stop the door from closing. “Serving humans isn’t like... all there is to life. Is that all they taught you at Robo House?”

“Of... course?” The Doga could feel his circuits shift nervously. Was his performance not holding up? He had been so busy blotting everything out in that awful place, he hadn’t actually paid that much attention to what was being said to him. It was like his time in the Dark Axis as a Commando. He was told to do something and simply obeyed. Having to analyze the context of those orders was never up for his interpretation unless so required. If a Commander told him to shoot, he shot without question. The same concept applied to surviving Robo House. Had he been meant to take something else away from his time there?

Miku frowned. She looked at Wilson confusedly. “Is something wrong?”

“Nah, it’s all good. You take care of yourself, Darwin. We’ll have her home from physical therapy by six sharp.”

They left. Doga Yellow stood there in the driveway, watching them leave until the headlights disappeared in the thick underbrush of the forest. He stood there for a long time.

**vii**

In the month that followed, Doga Yellow used Miku’s scheduled absences to explore the house. As thorough as he was, each pass over the property always revealed something new. At least this arrangement was better than Robo House. It always gave him his first intakes of relief from his _acting_ stint, too. And he always made sure to push One of the flower pots off the porch on his way back inside. Just for a little stress relief.

The dwelling had a low–tech cellar and Three additional floors above that. The first and second were actual living spaces. An attic floor existed above in the attic, although this was supposedly for extra storage (which made no sense, since they already had a basement). Human housing designs were atrocious. As Miku repeatedly explained, she had received the house as part of a settlement agreement that required her to maintain and restore the property for historic preservation. Please. The structure was hardly “old” as he was familiar with age. He had been around for almost as long and _he_ was hardly historic, but at least it was still entertaining. It was part of the reason he never got through exploring it all at once. There was always something new or moderately intriguing about it. Multiple rooms, hidden caches built into the walls, items concealed in the attic with interesting shapes and unknown purposes...

Miku was an artist. That meant she liked to do... art. Which was a form of expression using external mediums to convey some kind of reaction from a human psyche. All the times she spent explaining it to him just confused him more. But as she said, the reason Miku took on the task of restoring the house was to use it as an outlet for said art. An entire room was even dedicated to it, which he took the most time exploring when she was gone: even more than the attic. At first Doga Yellow thought it was a garbage disposal site, but then he realized that some of the materials were brand–new. Frames with stark white material stretched across them, cans with different contrasting oils, utensils...

His curiosity got the better of him. Acting or not, he didn’t want to be completely miserable living with the organic wretch.

Despite this, he regretted asking her about it almost immediately. She human begged him to help her up the stairs so she could show him.

“I probably ought to have someone come and install a lift,” she said. “I can’t have you hauling me up and down the stairs every time I want to go to a different floor!”

Doga Yellow debated dropping her from the top banister for reminding him.

When they got to the top of the stairs and she was safely placed in her chair, she immediately rolled to the back room. By the time he caught up, she was already fiddling with One of the frames. She eased the huge board onto a slanted stand with an adjustable height. She reached out for a randomly selected oil container and some kind of broad–headed device with fibers at the end.

“I got this house because I wanted to restore it. I’m a maintenance worker with the SDG, so I always loved fixing things. But I also love making things, too!” She brought the utensil into the paint, swirled it lightly, then pulled it out and brought it against the white framed object. “This is paint, this is a paintbrush, and _this_ is a canvas! People can replicate images with their imagination using these things. Personally, I love using lots of colors.”

Doga Yellow couldn’t figure out how to fake excitement with his swelling anxiety. He felt a sense of dread watching her bring the brush across that bleached surface. Dark black, ugly and piercing. “Oh. I— uh. I can see that.”

Miku seemed disappointed by his response. She dragged the brush across the canvas a few more times in seemingly random locations. She set the can and brush down, wheeling her chair back and finding more paints. She plucked up a small board that she began to mix multiple oil blots on, all of them shades of grey. She started to drag different varieties across the canvas, each streak more menacing to him than the last. “I like to make super vibrant backgrounds and then figure out what goes on top afterward! Sometimes it will stay abstract, but sometimes I’ll figure out how to make it something more concrete. With all these dark reds and oranges, it might be a good autumn scene!”

Another spatter of black. Off–white was layered on top. Charcoal, gainsboro, nickel, silver... The brush swirled and mixed the colors together, smearing those hideous greys across the canvas like a fresh soldering scar.

“Here! You can try!” A mid–sized canvas was suddenly shoved into his hands. When he came to from that awful trance, her face was turned downward. “Darwin? Are you okay?”

Doga Yellow dropped the canvas and fled.

**viii**

Keeping up his façade was exhausting. The longer it went on, the worse he felt. It took longer for him to reboot in the morning when he started recharging on Miku’s schedule. Trivial chores that he did around the premises on the human’s behalf took twice as long and needed a significant exertion of effort to perform. He stopped caring so much about his own appearance. Dirt in his joints from weeding? What was the point of trying to remove it? They were built for ripping into enemies, not topsoil.

The barren Newtype Network he once shared with the other Three was an unbearable echo chamber. Without anything to distract, he found himself reaching down its hole to search for any kind of presence that would validate him. The Three would never respond.

Miku was starting to notice. One afternoon when the planet’s weather turned and started accumulating precipitation, he finally ventured outside his room to prevent his joints from locking up. That was when he heard the human’s voice from the kitchen. He strained his hearing.

“I think he’s depressed,” she said, her voice soft. “Just the other day I asked him if he wanted— no, he hasn’t been acting up, he’s not... he just doesn’t seem _happy.”_

Silence. No other detectable bodies, organic or otherwise, were in the house with them. If there was, he would have heard the vehicle roll up. It occurred to Doga Yellow that she was communicating with a long–range communication device. Not a radio. Telephone? He froze and adjusted his hearing frequency to its maximum. The frequency was too off–kilter to hone in on any audio from the phone, but Miku’s voice was loud and clear.

“No! No, no, please, that’s not necessary. I _do_ like having him around! He’s been nothing but helpful! I just want to make sure he’s— yes, I can hold for Dr. Walker. Thank you.”

Happy. He understood the definition. While Gerbera certainly had the option to program them as drones, they were created with fully functioning personalities and emotion–processing centers. It allowed for a greater success of invasion forces when the soldiers could examine their surroundings with free will and adjust to a suitable strategy of attack. Emotions like fear and anger simply allowed further incentive for them to do their jobs. _Happiness_ by itself was not a key emotion needed to achieve victory in an Operation, but Axians could certainly feel it – limited in quantity as it might be.

The Four as Doga Yellow knew them had not always been that way. Before Doga Blue came along and replaced him, Doga Brown had been the Fourth in their Quartet. Soft–spoken but brutal, he was the Four’s muscle and Doga Grey’s SIC. He was shot down during the invasion of Voxvale under the facility of Commander Z’Gok, forced to endure imprisonment and torture at the hands of the natives. Unlike Yellow, the option to simply act and avoid destruction had not been an option. Self–destruction was not deemed an immediate necessity. It was days before the other Commandos were able to track his position to One of the floating steam–powered bases. Exhausted and critically wounded, Doga Brown – Umber – died in Doga Purple’s arms.

Four became Three became Four again when Doga Blue was added to their lineup.

“Nice to, like, meet you dudes!” Doga Blue was hovering upside down in front of them, playfully revving his engine. All Three of them looked at Gerbera.

“This mech had the _unfortunate_ fate of not having a proper wipe,” Professor Gerbera said, rolling his optic. “His previous personality and vernacular remained intact.”

“Urgh.” Doga Purple, who had taken Doga Brown’s death the hardest, looked disgusted. “Can we send him back?”

“Flawed personality or not, I still hand–selected this Commando myself.” Gerbera gave his optic a menacing flash, immediately silencing the purple Commando. “His record is excellent, and _this_  soldier won’t fall victim to something as preventable as Doga Brown’s poor excuse of a demise. To think he couldn’t survive such miniscule torture. Spoiled brat.”

Minuscule was a severe understatement. Umber's wings had been ripped clean off and his internals stripped away piece by piece. They had cannibalized him alive, slowly, so he could watch himself be taken apart for the enjoyment of his captors. An explosion of fury erupted along the Newtype Network. Doga Grey, emotionless and still at attention like he obedient servant he was, did his best to soothe their still–grieving ally. Doga Purple was a live wire with rage. Doga Yellow helped as best he could.

Grey bowed, respectful and monotone. “Thank you, Professor. We will accept the newest member of the Doga Commandos immediately.”

“Good. I’ve already administered administrative privileges to Doga Blue. Begin the synchronization.”

“Sweet!” Doga Blue flipped himself around and landed, stretching himself out before the Three felt the familiar pull of a Fourth user tugging on their Newtype Network. The last time they felt anything from that link, Umber had still been alive.

Physical sensation and articulated communications were not the only shared element of the Doga Commando network. When pain did not rob them of their senses blind, _emotions_ were the strongest impression shared between them. Doga Purple broadcast fury. Doga Grey broadcast cautious optimism. Doga Yellow could feel his own sense of hopefulness invading the space of the link, and the final quarter of unattended link began to materialize Doga Blue’s presence. Despite his buoyant exterior—

“You have no right to be _sad_.” Doga Purple’s first internal communication to Doga Blue was biting. The anger flared, hot and scarring.

“The Professor told me about, like. What happened to Doga Brown. Totally not cool.” Doga Blue’s presence was submissive. “I’m sorry, dude.”

It took time, but eventually the Three plus One became a proper set of Four again. Their next invasion was glorious. Banhollow was a dimension with an impressive array of Gundam warriors who worshipped war–mongering deities. The region was divided into clans that fought in the hopes that they would be accepted to a warriors paradise in the afterlife. The Doga Commandos were more than willing to escort them there under the brutal direction of Commander Nightingale and her _Thaumus Musai_. Their combined effort merged into the will of One, and for the first time in months, _happiness_ flooded the link. Raw. Powerful. They were whole once more.

And then Commander Sazabi robbed them of the luxury.

“Darwin?”

He came back to his senses. A significant amount of time had passed. Miku was in the kitchen but was no longer speaking on the phone. He had missed the entire conversation. “Yes?”

“Come down here for a second. I want to give you something!”

When he made it to the kitchen (though not without clipping his wings on the doorway), Miku was rolling over to the table with a tray of _something_ in her lap. They were white balls of compacted organic material, held together by a single piece of dried plant–matter.

“These are called rice balls!” She set the tray on the table and rolled her chair back, as if the plate were a crude peace offering. “Sometimes I feel down on rainy days like this, so my mom used to make me rice balls to cheer me up!”

“Rice balls,” he repeated. It sounded as ridiculous as it looked.

“They’re a popular snack in Neotopia,” she said. “Bakunetsumaru – he’s a Gundam from another dimension – also has them on _his_ home world! They believe that they contain the love and respect of the person that made it, and that it has healing powers. Sounds pretty silly, but it might be true. I sure think it is!”

She was trying to sound optimistic. What had she talked to Dr. Walker on the phone about? Doga Yellow reached out and plucked One up. It was nearly instantly crushed in his palm. “Sorry.”

Miku somehow found this lack of control endearing. She laughed. “It’s okay! Practice makes perfect... erm, you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to, but—”

Almost without prompting, Doga Yellow felt his jaw–plate unhinge. He was used to consuming organic material under emergency situations, but never for... recreational use. But he felt hollow. He popped it back into his maw. The taste–feedback wasn’t particularly notable (it was rather bland, actually), but it gave his sensory–net a kind of strange jolt that standard refueling hadn’t. He vaguely felt _better_ somehow. An error in his code? He went to grab the next rice ball without even realizing. He didn’t even know he ate the third until his energy meter kicked up an entire percentage. He felt— _something_. Not happiness, not exactly, but whatever ugliness had been looking over him wasn’t so crippling anymore.

Miku’s whole face lit up in a strange way. “Feel better?”

“Maybe,” he said, then realized he had walked into a word trap. The human was not supposed to know he _hadn’t_ been feeling well.

Miku laughed. “Want me to show you how to make them yourself?”

Thunder rumbled outside. Miku turned on the lights and they spent the rest of the afternoon rolling rice.

It wasn’t close to happiness. But feeling _something_ was better than feeling nothing at all.

**ix**

It was mid–summer when Miku’s visits to the “therapist” began to intensify. She was gone from the house Two days a week rather than One. Doga Yellow’s “chore” list went up, too. One of these was to prep a second and third bedroom. By now he had started using his own bed too, but only as something to lean on. It was... lonely. He used to roost with the other Commandos in their designated hangar in the Fortress. Doga Blue and Doga Purple were always touching, the prior always obnoxiously _leaning_. Doga Grey kept close, but not close enough to be an uncomfortable presence. Doga Yellow maintained a breadth of distance as well, but lately having the mattress to lean against – as if it were One of the gone Three – was his new habit.

But no. They were gone, and he was stuck making beds because Miku was going to have _guests._

The Commando dreaded it.

“My biological mom died a few years ago, but my other mom and older sister said they would come by! The last time I saw them was when I was in the hospital for my legs.” At this, Miku expertly wiggled her stumps, which was far more unsettling than it was endearing. He must have had some kind of visceral reaction, because the femme laughed until she had tears in her optics. “I kept putting off having them come up because the house wasn’t ready, but they offered to help me with the repairs a few months ago! They’re really great. They always keep their promises.”

On the Friday when Miku was driven back to the house by Wilson, she showed him how to prep the oven and directed him to get One of the dead animals out of the refrigeration unit. She had already prepped it that morning – she was going to show him how to cook a “ham.” As the evening dragged on, no other vehicles arrived in the driveway.

“Put the ham in. I’ll call and make sure they’re not lost...” the human rolled into the next room, opting not to use the phone in the kitchen. An odd move. Something was off. On the way out, she pointed to a collection of black–capped containers on the counter. “Make sure to season it! It's the vial with the red lid.”

Doga Yellow spent an agonizing amount of time trying to figure out which container was the one Miku intended for use. He fudged it and selected the one that looked the most used. He was finally about to place the ham in the oven when a piercing _shriek_ jolted the entire house. Doga Yellow jumped and tore the oven door clean off. The ham fell. Rather than engaging evaluation protocols, his processor scrambled to activate weapons that were no longer there as he rushed into the room. _Defend the human_ had somehow taken priority over his self–preservation software.

The woman was shaking. The phone was hurled across the living room and in Four separate pieces on the floor.

“They’re not fucking coming,” she said in–between sobs. She was gasping for air, disgustingly leaking fluids from every visible orifice. To make things worse, she started rubbing the fabric sleeves of her clothes on her face. This did not eliminate the fluids and only served to be a gross vessel for smearing them. “I lost my fucking legs and my own family isn’t even _coming._ They _yelled_ at me.”

It took Doga Yellow a few seconds to piece the garbled information together. Her familial units had canceled without bothering to notify her, purely because of _his_ presence. She had made a mistake bringing him into her home. They were punishing her for it.

“Should I leave?” It was a stupid question, and the only reason he blurted it out was because he wasn’t sure what else to say. Was this human sadness? It was ugly, it was loud, but it was affecting him in a way he wasn’t comfortable with. Miku was always so disgustingly upbeat despite her biggest physical flaw. To see the human so distraught for the first time evoked a new feeling inside of him.

Pity.

“No! Oh my god, no...” Miku was starting to calm down. Her face was red and her eyes were still leaking fluid, but her voice had dropped back to an acceptable level. “Originally I didn’t want to – that’s the thing. But Robo House insisted that it would be a good idea to have you around to help me, that it could be part of their post–evaluation research for you... but you’re like a member of my family now! I can’t just throw you out just because my family thinks you’re still bad! I fucking hate being like this, I wish I had never lost my fucking _legs_... but you’ve been nothing but a _friend_ to me, and I can’t turn my back on you. “

Doga Yellow had not been the only person maintaining a façade. At the mere mention of _legs_ and _friend_ , the human broke down into tears once more. The sound was distressing the point where he wanted to leave just to get away from it, but the idea of leaving the human alone was equally upsetting. So much so that it outweighed his normal social anxieties.

 _“They’re_ defective,” he said.

“What?” Miku looked up at him. Her eyes were wide.

“Your family units.” Doga Yellow scoffed. “You believe _you_ are the defective individual because you lost your lower limbs, but humans are supposed to be social animals. If they abandon you for any reason while _you_ continue to remain high–functioning, _they_ are the drones who have a notable defect and should be abandoned. A unit that cannot function as a whole should not be a unit at all. The useless members should be disposed of.”

The Commandos functioned as One. For Miku’s family to fracture like this, to leave her as fractured as _he_ was _on purpose,_ was not forgivable. Doga Yellow never had a choice. Miku’s family did. That made _them_ as defective as much as he and Miku were alone.

Miku stared at him for a very long time. Too long, because Doga Yellow finally left. He returned to the kitchen... and realized he had been holding the severed oven door the entire time, urgh. He disposed of the scrap by the broken oven and cleaned up as best he could. He would resort to consuming the ruined ham later. The human was probably dehydrated, so he got a water bottle out of the fridge (and made the extra effort not to rip the door off of _that,_ too). When he returned to sitting room, Miku had already rolled her wheelchair back and was attempting to transfer herself to the sofa. He waited until she had completed the task herself before handing her the water. Then he retrieved the broken shards that once made up the telephone.

The smile she offered him was subdued. “Darwin?”

“Yes?” He was sure to make his voice sound upbeat. It occurred to him that he hadn’t been keeping track.

“Actually, never mind.” The human looked away, twisting the cap off the bottle with a _click._ “It’s not important.”

The rest of the evening was quiet, but Doga Yellow learned something important about humans – more specifically, Miku.

They both understood suffering.

They both understood _loss_.

He slept particularly close to his propped mattress that night, leaning into it until the springs permanently sagged with his weight.

**x**

Despite the failed invasion and the loss of the Three, he still had the capacity to feel loss. Being with Miku was able to remind him of it, but like her, he also had a similar capacity to recover.

After the other Commandos died, he thought there was nothing left for him. He was only One fraction of a person, whose whole had been robbed of him in Three whole pieces. But the longer he spent in captivity with the human, the more he realized that he still had a reason to live. A quarter of a living being or not, it was a quarter that still strove to survive a day at a time. The barren echo chamber of the Newtype Network was no easier to ignore, but the echoes stopped assaulting him when he stopped shouting into it.

For one, he didn’t _want_ to die. Self–preservation or not, he started to _enjoy_ living again. Chores were just mission–based tasks without the risk of being shot at, almost like a low–risk game of _Stalemate_ to resharpen one’s battle prowess. Miku went from being a tolerated presence to a decent companion. He still refused to go back into the Paint Room, but she showed him how to cook and make minor repairs with the tool kit she bought. She served as a buffer between him and the empty connection he once shared with the Three.

He felt... better. Things were looking up.

It was amazing how fast he could crash and burn.

It was early in the morning when Doga Yellow woke up and realized Miku was gone. He had recharged so soundly that his external alert–systems never notified him to the presence of the strangers that would have had to remove Miku. When he checked her bedroom, there was a note on the door.

_Darwin! Went out with Wilson very early. Won’t be back until tonight. Will have a surprise for you when I get back! Restock the bird feeders? I had Wilson bring in the ugly pumpkin, too! I saw you eyeing it last night. Have fun!_

The pumpkin was only slightly more difficult to consume than the ham. It was amazing to think how many things he could actually _enjoy_ now. Recharging was One of them. The mattress was starting to become comfortable, and some nights he would use a pillow or even throw a spare comforter over his head for an extra feeling of security. On top of his regular fuel intake, he was using his oral hatch just because it felt _nice_. Food was _great._ The only thing more satisfying than flight was how certain textured items would crunch in his jaws. He hadn’t just been eyeing that pumpkin, he had been _craving_ it.

When night came, he was in a particularly good mood. Doga Yellow heard the van arrive before he saw the headlight beams bobbing through the front windows. He lazily finished off the remains of the pumpkin he grazed on throughout the day before heading to the front foyer to help Miku inside.

There was no need. Wilson was with her, but her chair was folded under his arms. Miku was standing shakily in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.

“Surprise!” She stepped into the house. The prosthetics clicked on the floor. Rather than euthanize the defective human, they had gone out of their way to repair her defect.

Too many things happened all at once. He felt numb. Any enjoyment he had managed to wrangle out of the day immediately flushed down the tubes, doused in acid and imploding with an ugly  _pop_ in the back of his mind.

Neotopia was too soft. Rather than cull or even simply tolerate the presence of a defective human, they had _repaired it._

Something touched his arm. _“Darwin?”_

He smacked it away as hard as he could and yelled. The night devolved in the same manner a game of Stalemate would, when Professor Gerbera decided to butt in and remind them that no matter how comfortable they felt, no matter how _nice_ things got, there was still always the ability to lose. Commander Sazabi had also robbed him of a victory on the night of the invasion, and now he was about to be robbed again: made to feel loss in its most severe incarnation. In less than ten minutes, the house was doused in light from circling gunperries. In less than fifteen minutes, a tactical team of humans and GMs stormed the house and dragged him out kicking and screaming.

He lost all that there was left to lose.

One would become Zero.

Game over.

**xi**

He hid from his own defect for decades.

There was _always_ a margin for error to occur among mass produced Axians. The factory floors were never foolproof. The mistakes were often unfixable, deep rooted in the base–programs that coded their very being. Fixing the mistake would surely involve full–blown re–rendering, and even then? A full hard drive wipe was still not guaranteed to fix the flaw. When Doga Yellow woke up from his reformatting into a Doga Commando, he was _still_ imperfect. A reject.

To reveal his fault would mean certain culling. Gerbera would have destroyed him, had he known. Or maybe he did know. The Professor was known for less cruel things.

Across the table from him, the human doctor cleared its – her – throat. Her smile was kind like Miku’s. It was a lie. “Darwin? How long have you been colorblind?”

In that moment, he realized that dying at the hands of humans was far more terrifying than dying at his own hands. So he smashed his head against the wall until he lost consciousness. Only then would he be spared knowing what enemy would finally euthanize the One who remained.

**xii**

When he came to, his very first realization was that he wasn’t dead. He knew because the world was still in shades of grey. He was leaning against a familiar mattress, and Miku was right there with him – in her chair. The prosthetics were missing. His head was pounding.

“Darwin?” It was Miku’s voice. When he finally found the strength to look at her, he could see that her face was red and puffed. Like that One night in the sitting room after her family refused to come, he could see that she had been leaking. “Were you too afraid to tell me?”

What a strange, stupid question. He tested his joints slowly, realizing that he was sore all over. Minor repairs had been dispatched around his head from where he had tried to smash his own skull. Dents were still pushed into his armor from where the GMs had dragged him out of the house. Miku did not move. Closer inspection of her revealed that her hair was disheveled and dark circles were forming under her optics . He checked his internal clock – he had been unconscious for Three days.

“You were supposed to have me destroyed,” he said quietly. “I was never reprogrammed.”

“Not that.” She shook her head. “Your vision.” 

He was confused and angry. Exhaustion claimed him and he went back under. When he came to again, it was pitch black and a blanket was tossed over him. He clutched it close.

**xiii**

Despite the public reveal of his flaw, he still went back into the Paint Room. The canvas that Miku gave him before was still propped in the corner. Untouched, collecting a fine layer of dust from months of neglect. He propped it onto an easel and sought out the paints with varying levels of contrast: enough for him to differentiate between them, even if the actual color evaded him.

He broke Four brushes before finally finding the correct grip. Then he immediately put that brush straight through the canvas. The wound was ugly. Damn. He would simply have to work around it. At least hole was small enough that it could be ignored.

He heard Miku come in long before she ever said anything. She was awkward on her prosthetics. She stood behind him for a long time, quietly taking it all in. “Do you know who Vincent van Gogh is?”

Doga Yellow revved irritably. He meant his response to come out sarcastic, but instead it just sounded sad. “I don’t even know who _I_ am.”

“He was a very famous painter from the Old World.” She audibly pulled up a chair and sat down. Doga Yellow kept painting. After a few more minutes, she continued. “He was disabled, too. He had psychotic episodes and had to be admitted to wards sort of like a human version of Robo House. He was in and out of treatment for most of his life. He even cut off part of his ear.”

“He kill himself or something?” Again, he meant it as a sarcastic reply, but the sound of his voice was depressing.

Miku stopped and said nothing. “That’s not the point I was getting at.”

“Then what was?” He kept painting. He couldn’t see color – that much he was willing to finally admit – but he could still distinguish shades. He tried to copy what was on the table across from him: a collection of paintbrushes and a clumsy looking pot. The lighting was good and sharp, so replicating the image as _he_ saw it was made easier.

The human’s voice was soft. Gentle. “You have his eye.”

“Incorrect. I have an optic that originated in the Dark Axis.”

“It was a figure of speech.”

“Bet he could see in color, at least.” Doga Yellow angrily scrubbed out a section of black. Mixing it with another shade of grey on his palette. When the resulting color was a suitable shade, he slashed that across the canvas as well.

“How long—”

“I don’t remember being created,” Doga Yellow said. When Miku didn’t say anything, he hissed with his forward steerage vents and continued. “Doga Commandos are promoted, not made. When a grunt Doga Bomber proves themselves, they get taken to a lab and have all their memories and previous personality wiped. The resulting AI is then outfitted with admin privileges and given a full–body upgrade. Defects like mine are a result of over–production in factories where the Dark Axis soldiers are produced.”

“So you were colorblind before you even _became_ a Commando.”

He snorted. “The only reason I probably agreed to the procedure was to fix my defect. Full–body upgrades are supposed to remove physical imperfections. I’m awkward with grunts, my initial AI was never optimized to be a leader. I just... must have performed well, even with this stupid _error_ hanging over me.”

Another angry slash of paint. Charcoal. Gainsboro. Nickel. Silver. Nickel. Gainsboro. Charcoal.

“I woke up from the upgrade and realized that I was _defective.”_ His hand shook. He almost broke the brush again. The wood creaked ominously under his digits. “My defect wasn’t a hardware ailment, it was my _software._ I was programmed with full–color recognition but no way to process it. I know what purple and blue and red _look like,_ I just can’t actually _see it.”_

“There’s no way it can be fixed?”

“No.” Doga Yellow vented heavily. “If it’s in my code, my primary programming would have assimilated it as the standard for my visual subroutine. And if Robo House is any indication, humans can’t hard _or_ soft reset Axians.”

They sat in silence for quite some time. As the painting came together, Doga Yellow found himself starting to like what he was looking at. It was fairly accurate with the adjustment made for Miku distracting him and the lighting slowly changing outside.

“Were you too afraid to tell me?” The human’s voice was soft. Curious and possibly slightly hurt.

“Yes.” A long stroke of sharp white as he began to paint the most intense highlights. “Defective soldiers in the Dark Axis are destroyed and recycled for parts.”

“You thought I was probably going to end up destroyed too, right?” Miku’s voice was soft. Horrified. “That’s why you reacted so badly. You saw they helped me rather than throw me away, and you grew up thinking that you would never have the same benefit. It was such a shock you...”

“Were you the person I hit?”

“Yeah.” Miku’s voice was softer. “It wasn’t that hard, actually. More of a glancing blow. It was my fault that I startled you, honestly. I tried to tell them that it was an accident, but they called the SDG anyways. I’m so sorry. I called nonstop for _days_ until they sent you back. They said you were dangerous, but the only reason your security bolt didn’t activate was because you didn’t know what you were doing. You were just reacting.”

“Disassociating works just fine, too.”

“I mean it.”

Silence loomed over them once more. He was putting the finishing touches on the painting. By now the room was dark.

“How long did you know I wasn’t reprogrammed?”

“Honestly?” Miku actually laughed at this, as if any part of his question could be considered funny. “When you pointed out that my family was _defective._ Definitely way too out of character for a guy who’s supposed to be a human loving sap. But you sounded so genuine that I knew I wasn’t in any danger at that point.”

“That was foolish,” he said.

“You’re my friend. I wasn’t going to give up on you just because you happened to be faking. You did it to survive. We’re _both_ survivors. That’s why I wouldn’t let them keep you at Robo House. I fought with them for days to get you back.”

More time slipped past. The painting came together, layer after layer, evolving into something entirely new.

“It looks _really_ good, Darwin. So surreal...” She paused. “Is it supposed to be anything?”

“I’m replicating the items on the table,” he said. He was momentarily confused about why she couldn’t see it. Then it occurred to him what the problem was. “How many colors am I using?”

She giggled. “Literally _all_ of them. Guess I need to take a picture and turn greyscale, huh?” A pause. “So you can’t see color, but you can see high and low contrast. That’s... actually a really unique painting trick. I can think of a few people who would buy pieces like this, if you want to try selling them. We don’t actually have money in Neotopia, but you could use the production–credit to buy bigger canvases and more paint. I could help you get your own account, even.”

It was twilight when he finished. It looked... good. Not identical to the original, but decent enough to pass for a quality product. He saved a snapshot of it in his memory–banks and dedicated the save file to a subfolder he created on the fly. “I want to keep this.”

“Good, I was hoping you would say that.”

Before they left the room, he pointed at his chest. “What color is this?”

Miku smiled. “Evergreen.”

To think that this whole time, he thought he was yellow and black. He was a _lot_ of things he didn’t know.

**xiv**

Before Miku lost her legs, she had been in the process of restoring the historic home. _Process_ was a subjective term, though. Many projects had been started and subsequently abandoned when she ran out of necessary supplies or focus. Most rooms still needed to have their paint restored. The sitting room still needed to have the ceiling fixed. The outside patio had a concrete floor that needed to be repaired.

The tactical team had caused a lot of damage to the interior of the house, too. Holes had been knocked in the walls from idiot GMs. The front door’s frame was busted. The railing was bent out of shape.

Then again, some of the damage had also been from him. Dings in the doorways where he didn’t quite watch where his wings went. The flower pots he had repeatedly pushed off the porch to satisfy the long since settled rage in him. The door was still missing from the oven.

The situation was what he made of it. That much he was aware of, now. He was a prisoner who was forced to fake _enjoyment_ at being imprisoned. He was colorblind but could still see and appreciate what he had in other regards. He had a... friend. Miku was his friend. He _got_ what that meant now, despite the word being so foreign and taboo in the Dark Axis.

He woke up early, fished whatever awful human tools he could find in the shed behind the house, and went to work fixing whatever he could. Starting with the stupid oven.

**xv**

For all his efforts, there was One thing he still could not fix.

Doga Blue, Navy, would have liked human food. Doga Yellow knew because he remembered what his palette was. Over–processed _garbage_ was his favorite when they invaded worlds that required long–range missions where emergency re–fueling was required. He could imagine the youngest of the Four rummaging through cabinets finding the worst possible things to shove down his gullet.

“What’s this, dude?” A _pop_ and a panicked yelp as the plastic bag exploded from the force of his grip. _“It’s attacking!”_

“It’s _potato chips_ , you idiot.”

“Dude, I’m totally in love.” Any chips not crushed into dust would be shoveled into his maw. The rest of the chips would follow soon after. Next would be the pretzels. Donuts. Candy. Miku would have found the ransacking of her kitchen _amusing_ somehow.

Doga Purple, Violent, would have liked the house. He was straight–forward and cruel in battle, but he was also explorative. He’d spend hours just searching the house for no reason other than to see what he could find. Hours – days – would be dedicated just to searching for hidden niches and discovering items he couldn’t immediately discover a use for.

Miku would join him, despite already knowing the layout of the house. “Here! See that little niche above the window? Pull it down!”

Violent did so. A rusted metal shudder appeared from a hidden compartment as he pulled the hidden level. The Doga Commando’s optic flashed with robust curiosity. “What is the purpose of this?”

“Back before they terraformed the planet and had the weather modules in the atmosphere, there were severe windstorms. A lot of these old houses were made pretty cheaply while the main construction of the city was underway. These shutters were to keep the glass from breaking into the house and hurting anyone.”

“Humans would be damaged by glass.” Doga Purple expanded the shutter fully, then pushed it back up. “Your species is surprisingly thoughtful.”

At this, there was another happy proclamation about potato chips in the kitchen. Navy went ignored.

Doga Grey, Darktide, would have liked Miku. His sole reason for living had always been to serve his superiors, and he would have respected Miku’s authority over her artwork and her own physical body. How she could take a blank canvas and command it to do whatever she willed. How she could defy her lack of legs and walk on prosthetics. Miku would have encouraged him to be his own person.

“I can see you take your job pretty seriously,” Miku would say, handing him his own canvas. He could see color the way Doga Yellow couldn’t, but his physical color–scheme wasn’t a mistake. In the Dark Axis, greys and blacks were a sign of absolute servitude. He chose his colors for a reason. “I can respect that. But you should be able to serve _yourself_ too. This might be a good start.”

Darktide would shoot Doga Yellow a _help me_ look. He would feel it over the network they shared. The other Commandos would find it hilarious that their leader, always so sure of himself and his position on the battlefield, would have no idea to proceed.

“I will make an attempt,” he would say. And he would. In the months to come, Darktide would add minute splashes of red to his armor. Not enough to indicate a change to the humans watching them, but the Three of the Four would know. Even if Doga Yellow couldn’t see color, he would know the most.

But the Four were gone.

Doga Yellow woke up from his dream in the middle of the night. Moonlight came through the window and illuminated shadows of the flaws in the floorboard. He spent a very long time counting the knots in the wood when he felt something touch his hip. Miku had wheeled in without him ever hearing her.

“Darwin?” Her voice was soft. “What’s wrong? I could hear you from all the way across the house.”

He knew what this was. Perhaps Gerbera had designed them not so different from humans after all, even if their base origin was species–apart. He remembered watching Miku cry over her lost legs. He choked back another sob and bowed his helm, clawing at what he could reach of his head where the Newtype Network had once been. Where the One had been Four had been One. He could no longer resist shrieking into that echo chamber.

 _“I miss them.”_ Doga Yellow forced down another wail but lost control moments later. His chassis wracked. His engine sputtered. His cooling fans started to work in overdrive as his body felt like it was going to have a meltdown. “ _I miss them!”_

He lost track of time. When he came to, it was still dark with dawn barely lighting the sky outside. Miku was still awake, her hand stroking over the top of his head in slow, repetitive movements. He had slumped down to the ground at some point during his grief.

When he finally fell into recharge, he had a “dream” where he was on a hill. The same One Guneagle took him out on, during the day. Miku was in her wheelchair behind him. The Three lost Commandos were in front of him.

Charcoal. Gainsboro. Nickel. Silver. Nickel. Gainsboro. Charcoal. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Three. Two. One.

“Bye,” Darwin said.

Navy, Violent, and Darktide left, peeling off into a grey sky. And the One became just one all by himself.

**xvi**

The humans insisted on calling it a second invasion, but it was really nothing of the sort. Even with his admin–access to Gerbera’s flock cut off, he recognized the hastily arranged organization of a hunting party when he saw it. When Gerbera’s proxy and Sazabi crashed, the Dogas began to fall one–by–one. He tuned out by then.

He was able to let his dead wingmates go, but Sazabi was still far from being forgivable. Doga Grey’s death had been too cruel. His own abandonment had been unnecessary, even if it _did_ work itself out in the end. The reminder that he had lived so long in the shadow of the Dark Axis and its Commanders was too raw.

He watched Keiko Ray leave. The confrontation with Commander Sazabi’s warden had gone sour. Then he went to the darkest part of the house that he could find and fit into: the living room closet. He stood in the corner with his face pressed into the wall and cried until his vocalizer physically ached.

Sazabi had betrayed all four of them. And now he was alone.

He debated killing himself, but the thought was so half–hearted that his security bolt didn’t kick in. If he was dead, the memory of his friends (and yes, they _were_ friends, he knew that now) would be gone forever.

And who would help Miku? She was better on her prosthetics, but she was still just as alone as he was. She refused to abandon him, so he owed her that same courtesy. 

There was warmth on his lower back. Darwin choked on an intake and revved his engine in an attempt to reign himself in. He couldn’t be a sobbing mess for a second time in front of Miku, but his rampant emotions were out of control. He didn’t stop. He shook and sputtered until his engine started to backfire from the added stress. Miku sat with him, her wheelchair parked between the doorway threshold, for over an hour.

When he finally quieted down, she pulled away and left him alone. He turned around and saw that a large plate had been placed on the ground in her place. Rice balls, raw fish, steak, and a pile of mint leaves. He ate everything.

Miku was in the kitchen when he went to find her. She excitedly waved him in, already dressed in her recharge–attire and making something on the stove. It was in a skillet with tin foil on top – and then it suddenly _popped_. Darwin recoiled. The popping continued and the tin started to push upward.

“Wanna watch a movie with me?” That smile was infectious. He had been around humans too long. “ _Some Like It Hot_?”

“Do they?”

She laughed until she she started to cry. “That’s the name of the _movie_ , you dummy.”

The “popcorn” was transferred to a large bowl. Miku made several batches, then had Darwin help her with the cumbersome smoothie machine she couldn’t reach while in the chair. She showed him how to make smoothies using yogurt and the fruit that had been pre–diced and stored in the freezer. He was skeptical about both food articles, but the taste was phenomenal. They sat in the living room eating snack foods (he tried hard to pace himself, but the popcorn was gone less than twenty minutes into the film) while watching the ancient comedy from the Old World that Miku occasionally gushed about. It was about two humans who witnessed a murder and had to assimilate into a female–coven of performers by disguising themselves in “drag.” The whole premise was rather ridiculous. But he laughed a few times.

Towards the end of the movie, Sugar appeared on screen in a sparkling dress that immediately had the Commando’s attention. He revved. “What color is that?”

Miku shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He looked down at her and flashed his optic. “Please don’t patronize me.”

“Darwin.” Miku was smiling. She never looked away from the screen. “This movie is in black and white. There are no colors.”

He sat in silence, stunned.

In the end, he wondered if Sazabi had learned to see the world in color – real color – too.

 


	12. Kelly Donahue

**And the walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love.**

**Grey clouds roll over the hills bringing darkness from above.**

**But if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?**  

**And if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like you've been here before?**

**Oh where do we begin, the rubble or our sins?**

**How am I going to be an optimist about this?**

_Pompeii_ – Bastille

**i**

“We’re okay.” Bernard’s breathing was calm, even as the crowd moved outside. The morning was crisp. Quiet. No one spoke above a whisper, ragged and exhausted from the night past gone. “We’re going to be okay. I promise.”

Dawn had broken out over the city the same as any other day in Neotopia. The usual haze of morning blanketed the downtown blocks as the mass of human and mechanical made its exodus down the empty street. Traffic lights flashed, running off their scripts as if nothing was gone wrong. Law enforcement GMs and deputized human Peace Core retirees helped direct the throng of exhausted citizens. Many of the human officers in their group had loaned horses from a mid-city farm to give them a height advantage over the evacuees. Darkened office buildings lined their route, windows unlit as no one showed up to work. GMs seemed to move slower than the rest, many of them still cradling their heads.

“But will  _they_ be okay?” She couldn’t help but sound skeptical. As a mechanical nurse, she dreaded to think of what the mobile citizens were doing through. The deactivated horns that had brainwashed the robots were still lying in the street. The robots gave them a wide breadth, but they appeared non-functional, thank god. Occasional mobile citizens within earshot whispered about a Captain Gundam who had saved them... whatever that meant.

Her fiancé didn’t answer. Bernard pulled her close, bringing them shoulder to shoulder as they shambled through the slow-moving parade. The group turned left down Universal Avenue, directly in the shadow of Neotopia Tower’s south pillar. Another gunperry surged above them low enough to the ground to make out the decorated human and robot operatives hanging out its sides. It flew straight for Netopia Tower, ascending and banking around a building at the end of Universal Avenue. The ships were everywhere now, circling the city in diligent loops. A human Peace Core officer on a huge black horse trotted up alongside them, barking instructions for everyone to continue moving.

“I wonder who they are,” she said. “They're not retired Peace Core and they're not with the GM city police. They must be serious business... how else would they have organized this evacuation so fast? Maybe they're a secret government faction?”

“Don’t think about it,” Bernard said. He pulled her close, easing her along. His warm hand brushed over her skin and she broke out into goosebumps. He was still covered in dust from the group of brainwashed GMs that tried to bring that U-C Mart on top of them. In hindsight, trying to take shelter in there hadn't been a good idea. Not with so many other GMs that the mind-controlled robots were trying to get to... “Are you cold?”

“No, but I want a hot shower and breakfast.” She turned to look at the gunperries again, watching in barely subdued fascination. They were like nothing she had ever seen as they zipped around the metropolis skyline. It was a welcome sight in stark comparison to the night before with those one-eyed robots.

She and Bernard had gone into the city to catch an early dinner and a movie in the arts center on Main Street. Around ten after the movie ended was when the first flying mechs showed up. With the streets choked with zombified GMs, no one had been able to leave. They had been forced to take shelter in a U-C Mart that was immediately attacked by enslaved GMs seeking to round up the others inside. Then they had to run across town and take refuge in a community center with other refugees. Now they were being moved out of the city all at once, for their own safety. In case the flying robots came back.

She tried to swallow. Her mouth was dry. “Have you ever heard of the SDG?”

“What?” Bernard looked over at her. He had dark circles starting to form under his eyes. He must have stayed up all night while she tried to get some sleep, bless him. The bruise on his temple where an enslaved GM had clocked him was starting to turn purple, too.

At this, another gunperry flew overhead. It spun around midair, sharply changing direction as it pivoted and turned. The badge on the side of the ship flashed gold. “All the ships and GMs we saw disabling those horn devices had that emblem with those initials.”

“Don’t think about it.” She wasn’t sure if Bernard was being genuine anymore. His words sounded too automatic, like he was running off a script. He was no longer looking at her, instead gazing up at the sky. He wasn’t looking at the gunperries either, his eyes following something else with the same precision he would trim back his beloved plants. “Just don’t. Please? We’ll deal with it later. Just focus on walking until we get out of here.”

She followed his gaze, squinting past the bright sunlight. Something flashed yellow below the clouds before disappearing through a mountain of nimbus. So the one-eyed robots  _were_ still here. Why hadn’t they left? What did they  _want?_ She had to swallow her heart back down out of her throat. She couldn’t afford to panic now. Not whe and n Bernard was trying so hard to comfort her.

It was ten minutes later when someone in the crowd screamed. The exodus hadn’t gotten more than half a mile as their throng was joined by other citizens. From all walks of life they convened, merging into a massive cell of bodies that completely choked the road and all available sidewalks. The old rubbed shoulders with the young. Children cried and parents struggled to comfort them. GMs limped while other robots rolled along dejectedly. They had barely made it to the end of Universal Avenue’s longest stretch when the man’s shriek pierced the air. The crowd reacted accordingly. One by one, bodies turned in the direction of Neotopia Tower. If something had happened, it would be  _there_ _._

A flash of gold and purple preceded the sudden appearance of a new ship. It was like nothing she had seen before, and certainly not anything that could have been designed by a citizen of Neotopia. Dark red and purple, cast with jagged spikes... it phased through a portal that looked far too small for it, causing the gunperries to divert from the airspace in frantic flight. It hung in the air with predatory menace above the centermost rotunda of Neotopia Tower, suspended between its two pillars.

Grey smoke hissed from the ship's forward ventral ports. A woman screamed. A panicked child began to sob.

“What  _is_ that?” she asked. She was talking about the ship, but seconds later realized she probably should have been more concerned about the grey smoke. It coiled menacingly, snakelike and ominous.

Rather than dispersing in the atmosphere and rising with the heat of the city, the grey cloud seemed to move with intent. It dispersed sideways, descended quickly... smoke wasn’t supposed to move like that. The exodus had come to a stop to stare at the bizarre phenomenon, but the Peace Core horses from their original group were having none of it. The huge animals were immediately set on edge, snorting and blasting air. A chestnut spooked and reared up with a shriek on its hindquarters. It threw its rider before peeling off down the road where pedestrians had to dive to avoid being bowled over. Terrified murmurs rose up throughout the tense rabble. The smoke was getting thicker. It moved down,  _down_ , rolling over invisible hills and surging like electricity—

“Please remain calm!” The voice was from a femme GM officer on a loudspeaker. Her voice was tense. She was horrified. “Please keep moving in an orderly fashion out of the city!”

“We’re okay,” Bernard repeated. “We’re fine. We’re okay.”

“Nobody  _panic!_ _”_

_“We’re all gonna die!”_

One of those awful flying robots, pink optic alight like a laser target, surged overhead with a tremendous roar. She couldn’t make out where it had come from. That, along with the cloud's sentient pivot towards the exodus, was the coup de grâce to the final shred of sanity that cradled Neotopia. This was no longer an organized march: it was a stampede. Without order and without a go, three thousand people turned and fled for their lives in horror. Bernard grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and tore her out of her stupor.

“Don’t look!” His breathing came out hard.  _”Run!”_

The roar of the crowd was soon overtaken by a new sound. Not engine turbines or screams – buzzing. It was like someone had stepped on a wasp’s nest underfoot, and the swarm was finally catching up. The sky darkened above as the cloud came crashing down on top of them, and that was when she realized what they were dealing with. This wasn't gas. It was a swarm of  _bugs._ They darted between rushing bodies as they outsped the terrified crowd, pivoting for people at random. Those caught off guard by the insects seemed to stop mid-stride to swat them away. Their bodies then locked in place and they no longer ran. Why were they stopping?

The crowd parted as they passed one of the Peace Core officers on horseback. The rider was an older woman in her early sixties with stark white hair, and the horse had a coat to match. The horse reared up high and swung its front legs wildly. It screamed in a way that made her break into goosebumps. The mounted officer threw her arms out and slid out of the saddle, hitting the ground and—

The officer shattered into hundreds of pieces, puffing a cloud of concrete in her wake. Part of what used to be her head bounced and tripped up a young man, who fell and hit the ground with enough force to break his body clear in two. The horse froze like a statue, marble and cast in dark shadows from the single streetlamp flickering above as a halo.

The stampede had turned into a slaughter.

“RUN!” Bernard’s voice shook.  _“RUN KELLY, RUN!”_

Pain exploded on the back of her neck. She felt like she had slept on it wrong and could only describe the sensation as  _static_ _._ She reached up to swat at it, to stop the painful tingling, but Bernard seized her around her shoulders and pulled them to a stop. He curled protectively over her, shielding her body.

Kelly’s breathing was calm when she came to. Her joints were stiff. Her muscles ached with an alien heaviness that made it hard to move right away. The sky was dark with sickly purple-red clouds that lingered threateningly. The air was choked with smog that made it hard to breathe, but that wasn’t all. The awful bugs were gone, replaced by sparkling flecks of light that rumbled like hummingbirds rather than wasps. Their movements were far less aggressive as they filtered between bodies. People previously frozen in place began to  _move_ again. For the first time in hours, she felt  _safe_ _._ She felt like Bernard may have been right. They were going to be okay. They  _were_ okay.

But Bernard remained a statue. He never moved again.

**ii**

“Kelly?”

Kelly Donahue, twenty-four and three years out of school, shot up in place. Her neck ached from looking down at her hands for so long, where her engagement ring had been. The site of her sting never quite stopped hurting, and she should have known better than to keep her head bowed like that for too long. She stood up too fast, the rest of her joints groaning in tandem, before following the blonde SDG agent into the interview room. She was one of the first interviewees. They were going through the entire nursing staff in alphabetical order.

“My name is Alison Miller. I work with Julia Petrov in the communications department. We have a few questions that we want to ask you.” The blonde woman sat down at her desk, flanked on either side by two more SDG officers. She recognized the GM right away: Mac had been one of her patients several weeks earlier for a standard checkup. The human may have been his partner. She didn’t recognize her. Alison was smiling, but the presence of security made Kelly apprehensive. “We’re conducting a small investigation into a potential security leak. Please have a seat, Ms. Donahue.”

It was no coincidence that she was here. Kelly took a deep breath, forcing herself to sit up straight. “Does this have to do with Michael’s Justice?”

“Unfortunately.” Alison produced a datapad, using her finger to scroll across the screen. Her voice was polite and subdued, but Kelly knew this was far from a casual meeting. “It’s nothing high intensity. As I’m sure you’re aware, our resources are still spread thin after the last attack on Neotopia. I can see from your files that you were a recent hire after the civilian-involvement initiative?”

“I wasn’t an employee of the SDG until after the invasion in June, yes.” Kelly shifted in her seat. “SDG recruiters got my name off the registered mech-nurse roster and asked if I was interested in a job at Blanc Base. The exchange rate for automatic license renewal was a great deal for someone like me. Recent grads in my position often get put on waiting lists for restitution-classes. People who have been nurses for longer get priority.”

Alison smiled politely. She was very pretty, even under the hard lighting. “Sure! That makes sense. A lot of recent recruits have told me the same thing. The Super Dimensional Guard has us all enrolled in a program that supersedes civilian status, so standard re-license classes for nurses, mechanics, and engineers are bypassed in favor of observational tests. It’s a great gig for young people looking to get ahead.”

She was making small talk. It was the calm before the storm. Kelly knew what was coming, so she braced herself.

Alison’s smile fell on cue. She scrolled through her datapad some more, stopping at something on her screen with slow intent. “Your file says that your p-card was issued to you at the beginning of July. Can I see it?”

Now she knew why she had been asked to bring her wallet with her. Kelly dug it out with an unsteady hand. Fresh pressed and still shiny, the plastic card flashed under the fluorescent light as Alison took it from her. Just looking at it again made Kelly’s throat knot. The back of her neck ached even more. “I was petrified on Universal Avenue heading southbound.”

Alison turned over the petrification-registration in her hands. “Any medical complications since then?”

“Just a stiff neck and joints. Usually only at night. Ibuprofen works best.” Kelly shifted in her seat. She knew where this was going. She knew what else was on that horrible little datapad in front of Alison. “I’m not—”

“Your fiancé was also petrified, but Bernard Yousef is still listed as being stored at Site B.” Alison looked up, handing the p-card back. Kelly hesitated to take it. She didn’t want it. The plastic felt heavy in her hands as she struggled to put it back in her wallet. “Your employee record also shows you were off work when the Doga Bombers came down. You were in the city when you met up with SDG operatives on the ground.”

Kelly stared at her. “What are you implying?”

The human security guard leaned forward past Alison, bracing her arm on the table to give her extra support. Her eyes were hard. “Have you had any communications with civilian groups beyond what is privileged with the Super Dimensional Guard? Specifically under any alias and in any manner that discloses confidential information? Not answering truthfully will result in prosecution later.”

“No.” Kelly felt her hands shake. She felt cold – too cold. But was she sweating? The skin on her back felt damp. It wasn’t a reaction of guilt. She felt wrong being there, being asked about her awful p-card and hearing Bernard’s full name out loud again for the first time in weeks. “I never leaked anything about Commander Sazabi or other private records to the PPSN. I’m not Michael’s Justice.”

Alison nodded slowly. She looked at the security officer next to her, smiling. “Hannah?”

“You’re free to leave. That’s all we needed.” The guard, Hannah, stood back up straight and gestured vaguely to the door behind Kelly.

“That’s it?” Kelly tried to swallow the obstruction in her throat. It was sore like her neck. “I just got here.”

“All of this is just a formality to gage how willing you are to help us with the investigation,” Mac said. The GM was leaning against the wall, oddly complacent looking. “We’re requesting access to your private electronic-mail and phone records in the meantime. If you don’t consent, we’ll get a subpoena.”

“Of course I’ll consent.” She inhaled sharply. It was a relief, thinking that she was that much closer to leaving. The world was tunneling. She struggled to maintain her threading composure in the face of her trauma. “I have nothing to hide. Honest.”

“Thank you, Ms. Donahue.” Alison nodded. “We’ll be in contact.”

Kelly’s first visit after leaving the office was the closest staff restroom. She peeled into the nearest stall, knelt over the toilet, and puked her entire lunch and most of her breakfast. Bernard’s name stung in her brain as much as it did on the back of her aching neck. She sat there on the neat tile floor and cried for a very long time.

**iii**

Commander Sazabi’s souldrive had activated twelve times since he was moved to his current hospital room. That was thirteen grand total, including the first activation when he arrived at Blanc Base during  _Fallen Eagle_ _._ And three of those activations had been while Kelly was on call working his rotation.

The first time was... bizarre. She had been looking over his charts from the previous shift when the exposed souldrive flashed bright and spun to life. A miniature sun, it threw heat and enough energy to momentarily make his monitors flatline. They had to install surge breakers on all the equipment since then. She called Keiko Ray to let her know about the change in his condition, although the light quickly died away and the hospital ward returned to relative normalcy. The second time had been when he died again. A week earlier she was working the graveyard shift when his vitals began slipping in the early morning. He was unresponsive to revival attempts. Thirty minutes later, his souldrive activated and he came back.

The third time was when she went in for her most recent shift.

Sazabi looked like shit. He was an impressive mech before turning into a fireball, but there was little left of his former glory beyond the sheer size of his living carcass. It was a little unnerving to Kelly to see how Kao Lyn would come in to bang out dents or buff what little remained of his armor. She thought it was morbid, like dressing up a corpse for a wake that never had the decency to end. As she walked in for her shift in the early evening, she could see the most recent fix: a repaired optic bulb with new glass and rotator cuff gear in his shoulder.

She had been in the room for less than five minutes when the souldrive went off again. The equipment hiccupped. A familiar glow swallowed the already lit room in impossibly bright light.

Kelly paged Dr. Elizabeth Keene and Chief Kao Lyn. They pinged back almost immediately. Kelly barely got her finger off the call button before Kao Lyn was buzzing her back. They were both on their way. She then picked up the phone to notify Keiko Ray. Everyone on Sazabi’s rotation had it memorized by now.

“Yes?” The woman sounded breathless. “Again?”

“Fourth time this week if my chart is valid.” Kelly didn’t even bother introducing herself. She could hear some kind of commotion in the background. “I apologize if I’m interrupting. This may become a routine event. Would you like us to take you off the call list?”

“Oh no! Please keep me in the loop, this is perfect. I’m always glad to hear good news, no matter  _how_ repetitive it is!”

A baby was crying in the background. Another woman’s voice followed soon after, equally distressed as the shrieking infant. “Keiko! Nanako will  _not_ stop crying! We need to take her to the hospital, a baby should never cry this much! Markus never—!”

“Urgh, I’m so sorry. I have to take care of my fussy mother-in-law. Would you please call me back if anything more happens? I always appreciate it.”

“We will.”

Just as Kelly put the phone back down on the receiver, Elizabeth Keene and Kao Lyn arrived. The prior was holding a small camcorder, already turned on and poised to record. “Did you timestamp the activation on his chart?”

“Seven forty-two. Ten minutes after I came in.” Kelly wordlessly handed Kao Lyn her chart. She glanced at Keene. “The camera?”

“We’re going to start recording the souldrive’s activation cycles,” Dr. Keene said. The surgeon who was usually confined to the operating rooms had completely taken over Sazabi’s case in the weeks following  _Fallen Eagle_ _._ “We decided on it this morning. The brief hasn’t been prepared for the nursing staff yet, so that’s why a camera wasn’t left in here already. We weren't expecting an activation so soon. How long has it been since—?”

“Fourteen hours.” That was Kao Lyn’s Ball. The little mech rolled into the room and rumbled as he trailed after the two doctors on his treads. “The previous record was seventeen.”

“So the time between activations is becoming more frequent, even without a set pattern.” Dr. Keene was frowning. She moved closer to Sazabi to continue recording.

“Once we have the new head of the maintenance department elected, we’ll be installing additional cameras in here as well.” Kao Lyn moved close to the Commander, watching the souldrive intensely from behind his glasses. The yin-yang lenses spun languidly. His hands folded behind his back as his Ball assistant rolled up beside him, lifting an external scanner that began to measure the energy signature radiating from the Axian’s body. “The sheer output by the Commander’s souldrive is like nothing we’ve seen, and it’s happened over and over! Even with a comatose vessel, it’s as powerful as Captain Gundam’s!”

“Reading complete. One thousand rotations per minute...” The custom decorated Ball swiveled his optic around to look at Kao Lyn. “Energy level is approximately—”

“Please, save the readout for when we are back in my workshop, Watson! This is a hospital, not a lab. Even if the patient is unconscious, I would rather not discuss such sensitive data in front of him!”

Watson grumpily clicked a claw. “Understood.”

“Additional cameras?” Kelly felt her chest knot. “Is this about the interviews we were all put through earlier?”

“It’s just a precaution, Ms. Donahue,” Dr. Keene said. As the souldrive began to return to its normal appearance, the doctor passed the camera to Watson. The translator Ball took the tape, grumbled, and left the room without further prompt. Keene sighed and walked forward, producing a small flashlight from her lab coat pocket and flashing it into Sazabi’s optic. “No aperture adjustment or reflexive response…”

“Doctor?”

“It’s the same reason I’m still on the Commander’s case as his primary physician, even though post-op observations have already ended and I’m only a surgeon.” Dr. Keene stood up and sighed, folding the flashlight away. When she and Kelly met eyes again, the nurse could see how tired she looked. It wasn’t a physical exhaustion she saw - it was mental. “This is such a high-profile case that finding enough people that can be  _trusted_ to work it has been called into question. The original two doctors slated to look after Sazabi were actually at a rally in front of Keiko Ray’s house months earlier. There were so many people hurt by the Commander that we’re short on people willing to even help him.”

Kelly wondered if they knew about what happened to her. They probably did, which meant that Keene was telling the truth. They were  _extremely_ short on people.

“You’re so much more than only a stand-in doctor, my dear! Elizabeth, your work with Commander Sazabi has allowed me to make great progress with his reconstruction plans!” Kao Lyn reached over, gently probing the Commander’s exposed shoulder gear. He was vibrating excitedly. “The entire arm was severely damaged in the crash, so I had all the salvageable metal melted and recast with a percentage of Gundanium. Then I reinstalled the arm with new wiring and redressed it. I couldn’t have gotten this far without your help!”

“Not sure if there was even a point to putting the armor back on. Most of it is going to have to be scrapped, anyways.” Dr. Keene turned around to check the monitors. She was frowning. “It’s like when my daughter tried to dress my son in the same onesie after she spilled grape juice on him. Except in this case the grape juice was falling through the atmosphere at eight hundred miles per hour. And then suddenly  _stopping_ at eight hundred miles per hour.”

“The armor will have to be replaced, yes.” Kao Lyn circled the table, examining Sazabi from the other side. “But unconscious or not, Sazabi wouldn’t have appreciated looking as pitiful as he did. We clean the blood off coma victims. The Commander deserves the same.”

“God, poor Viola Perez...” Keene’s face fell. “Her wife has been here every day since the accident. I feel so bad. If she doesn’t wake up...”

“Keiko Ray would be here just as often if it wasn’t for her family. Like us, she has work to do to repair the damage done. Like Sazabi, she also needs time to recover.” Kao Lyn adjusted his glasses, then circled back around the cot. The Commander remained as motionless as a concrete statue. The only sign of life separating him from a monument of death was the little flame suspended in its glass globe. ”She also went through quite an ordeal. Far more of an ordeal than many of us can comprehend! But time marches on and heals all wounds. We’ll all get back on our feet soon enough, even if we have to pick up the pieces one at a time.”

Picking up the pieces. Kelly wished that it could be that simple.

Where would she even begin, the rubble or her sins?

**iv**

Her first sin was never appreciating him more. She loved him deeply - and he loved her too - but now he was gone. And she was never going to get him back.

Bernard Yousef was nineteen when she turned twenty-one. He was tall and remarkably handsome for a guy who spent most of his time covered in dirt. It felt like a lifetime ago when they first met. Kelly encountered him in Cheyenne Nature Park not far from the historical district. She was fresh out of college and going for her first nursing certification. It was a stressful time coming – she was already on a waiting list and had interviewed for a part time internship at a local robotics clinic servicing non-GM AIs.

She couldn’t have been on that park bench for more than ten seconds when Bernard fell out of the tree behind her. She  _screamed_ _,_ launched off the bench, and instinctively threw her iced coffee at him.

The dark-skinned teen spent the next few seconds trying to blink creamer out of his eyes. “I would’ve preferred water.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Kelly surged forward to help him up. “You scared the crap out of me! Are you okay!?”

“Yeah! Better than okay! I saved it!” He pulled his hands up and uncapped his palms, exposing the small plant that he had been shielding. It looked like a small succulent with wispy tendrils, sporting different patches of green throughout. Dotted on the top of the plant was a small red flower. He had taken great care to make sure it wasn’t damaged in the fall, and he was grinning with such profound  _excitement_ over the silly thing that it was contagious. “I think it’s a new species! It’s definitely not a standard  _Crassulaceae_ plant. The extending growths are reminiscent of the  _Tillandsia_ genus too, but neither one of those families are even related.”

She had no idea what he meant, but it was sure interesting. She tried to follow along as best she could. “So it's like a hybrid?”

“Yes! And an extremely adept hybrid, at that. I’ve found dozens of these specimens in this tree and others further in the park. But I haven’t found any parent succulents or moss plants to go with them. It’s possible an introgression of new genetic material has led to the replacement of local genotypes since the hybrids are more fit and have breeding advantages over the indigenous species... well, as indigenous as you can get on an artificial planet. These hybridization events can result from the introduction of non-native species, but  _nothing_ on this planet is native. We’re all just a big genetic pool party, and there’s no lifeguard on duty.”

“Swim at your own risk, right?” Kelly offered him a hand. The boy immediately shielded his plant again, realized that she was trying to help, and started laughing. He took her hand and let her pull him to his feet. “I’m sorry again.”

“No! Please don’t be! I was the one who lost my footing. Another few feet and someone would be calling for a medic for both of us.” He pulled open his satchel and placed the little plant inside. Safely tucked away, Kelly wondered if that little plant would actually mean something significant someday. It was certainly unique looking – she wished she had gotten a better look at it. “I’m Bernard. I’m majoring in botany and genetics at Baldur Bay College.”

“I recently graduated with my nursing major from Regild Health. I’m Kelly.”

They shook hands. His palms were gritty from wrangling the poor tree. She could feel dirt transfer to her palm when she pulled her hand back. Had he been digging around somewhere? “My older sister went there! How did you like it? Have you already got a job lined up?”

“Not exactly.” Without even realizing, they had started walking. She had no idea where she was going with him, but the company was pleasant. Appreciated, even. “I’m starting an internship with a mom and pop shop off Libot Boulevard. They give routine checkups to a lot of the non-GM bound AIs in the city. That big swan boat was in last week when I was there for a tour of their facility.”

“Oh! You work with robots!” Bernard’s grin never left his face. “That’s ironic.”

“How so?”

“Well...” Bernard stopped in his tracks. His expression shifted. Brow furrowed, the college student gesticulated with both arms towards the entire park around them. Tall trees, full shrubs, flowers in full bloom… “I study plants. You study robots. They’re both very different things but not  _entirely_ unrelated. They both have their origins rooted deep in the cycle of evolution.”

“You lost me on that one.” Kelly pursed her lips. He was a bit of a basket case, yeah, but he was certainly endearing. Despite the fact that she had only just met this stranger, he had her entirely engaged in his mantra - lost and caught up in him.

“Plants have a largely natural history of evolution. Sure, humans came along and genetically altered and crossbred certain plants to have desirable traits, but human interference with their evolution is  _astronomically_ miniscule compared to how long they evolved on their own on the Old World! Millions of years they spent adapting and evolving without human interaction...”

“And robots?”

“Well they’re  _much_ more recent.”

“Obviously.”

Bernard flushed in embarrassment. He seemed to struggle with getting back on topic. “Robots are manmade creations, but their existence lies in the fact that humans evolved far enough to conceive such advanced creations. So they’ve unwittingly evolved with us with just as much vigor! It hasn’t even been a full nine years since mechs and femmes gained all the same rights as their human counterparts. They used to be basic-operating programs that you could write in less than five minutes on a tablet, and now they’re fully functioning living beings. Even if they  _are_ manmade, their capacity to evolve isn’t something to shrink at. It makes me excited for what the next century is going to bring. More new plant species? Even  _more_ advanced AI?”

“Can I buy you a coffee?” Kelly couldn’t stop smiling. She  _liked_ this guy.

“Ha! I’m wearing  _yours._ I’m the one who owes you a coffee!”

They left the park together. It was the same park where Bernard Yousef later received a science award for discovering the first new plant species native to Neotopia. He named it _Tillangales Saxifragales Kelly:_ more popularly known as Kelly’s Orchid. It was the same park where he proposed to her three years later. It was the same park that was left petrified, turned to stone without explanation in the months before the invasion, with its entire population of Kelly’s Orchids devastated.

Evolution was always going to leave its casualties. She just never wanted to imagine that it would be their future together that would go extinct, and that the world would simply move forward without them.

**v**

Logan Donahue skidded around the corner into the kitchen, looking at his family with wide eyes. His broken arm was suspended in its sling a little too haphazardly. Kelly would have yelled at him to fix it, but the look in his eyes told her that something immediately more pressing was wrong. “Kelly, Rossi, the SDG just released that footage everyone’s been talking about. The one with Monique Thatcher and the Axian prisoner. They’re showing it on the news.”

Rossi looked up from cleaning dishes. The gears in his neck snapped into place with an audible crack. Kelly couldn’t help but wonder if he had given himself whiplash. He looked between her and Logan, flashed his visor, and dropped the dishrag in the sink. Kelly set down the plate she was drying and followed her dads into the next room.

Logan and Rossi’s house was a one-story ranch home in the west district. It had also been Kelly’s home for as long as she had been able to walk, although she moved out for college - and again when she moved in with Bernard. She had been back in the house for a little under three months. She knew her parents didn’t mind having their empty nest suddenly occupied again, but she still felt bad impeding in their personal space. Logan was dressed in nothing but a pair of red boxers and t-shirt when he flopped back onto the sofa and turned the volume high on the widescreen. Rossi stood aloof behind the recliner, as if he couldn’t bring himself to go all the way into the room. Kelly approached cautiously and stood with him.

Logan was turning up the volume on the television set as the segment began.

 _“In a surprise move, the Super Dimensional Guard wasted no time in releasing the elusive footage documenting Monique Thatcher’s visit to Blanc Base.”_ A brunette anchorwoman was sitting at a desk with the Neotopia News Network logo hanging behind her. “ _As you may remember us reporting this morning, the PPSN’s deadline to release the footage themselves came and went without comment_ _._ _The footage has_ _been edited_ _only to conceal the identity of human staff members within the SDG.”_

“Here we go,” Logan said.

The anchorwoman for Neotopia News Network looked grave.  _“We want to warn our viewers that some of what you might see and hear is disturbing.”_

The newsroom clip cut to a high definition, high angle view of a grey cell. Kelly saw the flash of the mech occupant’s optic before registering the rest of him. The Axian was chained around the wrists with stasis cuffs and shaking, staring down a familiar shape in sharp pressed attire. A retired Peace Core uniform from before the robot-police turnover. Thatcher was recognizable even from the back.

“You’re not leaving this room ever, I’m afraid.”

The Doga Bomber shook. His voice was softer than what she imagined an Axian should sound like. “What?”

“The Gundam Force failed Neotopia on the containment of Commander Sazabi. You admitted it yourself. By allowing the Commander to co-exist among us without punishment, alive, Neotopia was invaded once again.”

“This was hardly an invasi—”

“My daughter’s best friend is dead!” Thatcher boldly surged forward and slapped her hands down on the table hard. The Axian flinched and trembled, the apertures of his optic shrinking back in blatant HD. Kelly didn’t have to be a nurse to see signs of electromagnetic exhaustion, although she supposed no one else might have noticed. The recurrent shaking, miniscule rhythmic head tilting, out-of-focus optical relay, loss of volume control... the Doga looked  _very_ sick. “We cannot have any ties to the Dark Axis remaining on our colony if we are to survive!”

Thatcher leaned forward. Her voice was venomous.

“That includes  _you.”_

The mech did not react for a solid three seconds, another symptom of EM exhaustion. Given the severity of her statement, Kelly figured the response should have been instantaneous. When he finally reacted, it was explosive. He stood up, lurched backward, and let out a feral scream made of pure terror. The Doga tugged desperately on his stasis cuffs to get as far away from Thatcher as possible.

Thatcher staggered backwards and screamed too. She began slamming her arm on what might have been a window out of frame behind her.

Another anchor’s pre-recorded commentary voiced over the clip.

 _“Terrified and attempting to get away, the Doga Bomber held in Blanc Base earlier this month never once lays a hand on Monique Thatcher_ _._ _As many viewers remember, Thatcher told an interviewer for Colony News Reporting that_ she  _was the one_ _brutally_ _attacked by the mech in question_ _._ _In fact, the only time that the Doga makes to lunge for her...”_

The clip continued. As the mech reared back, turbines blazing, he ripped the table that he was bolted to straight out of the ground. It smashed effortlessly. The mech shakily grabbed a leg, arming himself and making to lunge. Seconds later, dozens of other bodies flooded into the room with riot shields.

_“...seems to be an act of self-defense.”_

The mech immediately backed himself into the corner again. His face...  _opened_ _,_ newly exposed jaws snapping aggressively as he threw his head high and brandished that sad looking table leg. A person with their face blurred out rushed past the riot guards and tried to get closer. If they were saying anything, Kelly couldn’t hear. For the voiceover to continue, the video had been muted.

“God,” Logan said. “Is this a joke? The whole broken arm bit was so convincing. Did Thatcher seriously fabricate a story about an  _Axian_ to make people side with her? Hell, they would have sided with her from the beginning if she told the truth. The robot freaked out, she feared for her life, and the SDG reacted too slow for her comfort - simple as that. Now they’re going to skewer her just for  _this.”_

“Thatcher’s always been a piece of shit. We all saw this coming. Anyone who sympathizes with her is garbage,” Rossi’s voice was icy. He was never often outspoken like this, but when he was, his anger was always palpable. “Of course she was gonna blame everything on the  _robot._ That’s what scumbags like her  _do.”_

The clip changed. The timestamp in the corner of the video indicated that it was almost three hours earlier. The mech was rocking back and forth in his seat, looking down

 _“While Thatcher never comes in direct contact with the Axian prisoner, she can b_ _e heard_   _over an intercom instructing interrogation staff to turn on the room’s EM field, increasing it over time to wrench information from the mech_ _._ _Experts in contact with NNN claim that this method is nothing short of torture. Although the mech’s current whereabouts are unknown, the SDG’s main communications liaison had this to say...”_

The scene switched to a prerecorded image. Kelly recognized Juli straight away. She was flanked on either side by SDG GMs and was standing behind a podium at a press conference. The timestamp read as having been recorded ten minutes earlier.

“The Personhood Preservation Society of Neotopia failed to release footage of its representative’s visit to Blanc Base within the grace period extended to them,” Juli said stiffly, speaking into a microphone and reading from a datapad in front of her. “For those of you unfamiliar with the terms surrounding this video’s publication, the SDG offered the PPSN full agency to post the footage on their own reconnaissance. In return, the PPSN provided no response to this offer. As is plainly visible on the video, Mrs. Thatcher never once came in contact with the Axian, nor was anything she mentioned to the press an accurate representation of what happened. While a judgment call was made to allow Thatcher control of the interrogation due to her prior experience on the Peace Core, it was revealed by staff working under her authority that she was using the room’s security system as a makeshift torture device. TA-N90, the Axian, endured more than ten hours of EM torture at the hands of Mrs. Thatcher in gross defiance of the Robot Rights ordinance set by the city after appropriate court proceedings. An ordinance, mind you, that Mrs. Thatcher swore to uphold when she was an officer in the Peace Core. TA-N90 fortunately survived his ordeal after a round of emergency defragmentation. He is now resting comfortably on the colony surface in an undisclosed location on house arrest. We will not be taking questions at this time.”

As Juli exited the stage, leaving an uproared media frenzy in her wake, the news anchor resumed their voiceover.

 _“There is no word on where the Axian is currently located, based on this information. Neotopia News Network reached out to the PPSN for comment, but did not receive a reply in time for this news report. A full version of the CCTV footage can_   _be found_   _online at—”_

Logan, muted the footage and turned around to face his family. “This is crazy.”

“Yeah, Thatcher’s finally going to get what was coming to her over an  _alien_.” Rossi sat down, rubbing his head. “Just thinking about EM torture is giving  _me_ a headache. Commander Sazabi made us all go through something like that when he stole Captain Gundam’s souldrive.”

“Not to sound like a prick, but this  _is_ a Dark Axis rat we’re talking about.” Logan looked a little befuddled. “So what if Thatcher lied? She would have done us a favor taking that mech out. Look at what happened to Neotopia both times we had an Axian lurking around. This guy might as well be another Sazabi.”

Rossi stared at him like he had grown a second head. “You’re joking.”

“No. I’m not.” Logan made a vague motion with his good hand. The arm still in its sling twitched, wanting to shift as well. Kelly recognized immediately who he was gesturing to before he even started again. “It’s bad enough our daughter has to deal with him on a regular basis, after everything that’s happened.”

“And it’s bad enough that you’re married to a robot and you’re siding with the lady whose affiliates  _hate_ _GMs having all the freedoms they do_ _.”_ Rossi stood up, revving his engine angrily. “Atlus Industries supports the PPSN. You know  _why?_ Because all this anti-robot rhetoric is just what they need to—”

“Jesus, Rossi, we’ve been  _over_ this. No one is taking your rights away again.”

“Yeah, well, excuse me for being a little bit skeptical. I was Wiped  _twice_ before it was made illegal. It’s a miracle I didn’t end up in the scrapheap before then, huh?”

 _“Rossi...”_ When the subject of Wiping normally came up, Logan was usually comforting. But not this time. His eyes were hard, eyes warning.

“Look, Sazabi did a shitty thing during the first invasion, I get it. No one is denying that what he did was wrong, but he saved a hell of a lot more people this second time around.” The GM finally rounded around the reclined and stood in front of the television, towering over Logan as he remained seated. Kelly felt like she was about to watch a showdown. They both loved each other - she  _knew_ they both loved each other - but their marriage had been strained since the first invasion. “As soon as those Dogas and their boss took out the Commander, they would have gone after the city next.” 

“The city was almost destroyed because of Sazabi! Our daughter was almost killed a  _second_ time!”

“And what would have happened if Sazabi ran away and didn’t do anything? What would have happened if he just let himself get killed? There still would’ve been Dogas, armed and dangerous and ready to attack the city. They would have started  _shooting_ before they all killed themselves. Our daughter would have  _definitely_ been killed.” Rossi was shaking. “Commander Sazabi was a jerk. Then he went out of his way to take out Garbara or whatever the hell his name was. He  _helped_ us whether we like it or not. Letting Thatcher try to curbstomp the SDG into submission is  _gross.”_

“Right, because trusting the Gundam Force sounds like a  _great_ idea. We didn’t even know they existed up until the start of the summer.”

“I trust Captain Gundam.” Rossi’s visor flashed, determined. “He was the one who saved me when I had that  _thing_ on my head. I trust him more than anything.”

“And where was Captain Gundam when the Dogas first started dropping those control horns? Where was Captain Gundam when you got tagged by one of those things and snapped my arm on the restaurant patio? Where was Captain Fucking Gundam when Kelly and Bernard ended up as lawn ornaments?” Logan was shaking. “Thank god she woke up, because if she ended up like—”

 _“Logan!”_ The GM’s visor flashed in horror. He must have become aware of where they were, of who was with them. “What is  _wrong_ with you!?”

It took the human a second to realize his fatal error. He froze, paled, and turned to look at Kelly. His eyes were wide. The color only continued to drain as he stared at her. “Sweetie...”

Kelly left the room slowly. Her feet were heavy like stone. The back of her neck and all her joints sang in a chorus of pain that matched her heartache in key and note. When she finally made it to her childhood bedroom, she got into her pajamas and curled under the pink comforter. She didn’t move for the rest of the evening or the day that followed.

How was she ever going to be an optimist about this?

**vi**

Shifts had been switched around in the wake of the Michael Justice investigation. A real attempt was being made to find the mole now, although the manpower behind it was still too little to prove any good. Zero headway beyond countless interviews and new security cameras was made in the case. Whoever the mole was, they were probably going to get away with it… but there were still ways to get around future leaks or full blown sabotages. For starters, the engineer that usually maintained Commander Sazabi’s life support engines was rotated out and replaced with someone else. Someone who was reportedly “extremely” trustworthy. At least that was what Kao Lyn insisted.

Renee Clarke took one look at the Commander and blanched. “Jesus  _fuck_ _,_ he looks like shit.”

“You should’ve seen him when he first came in,” Kelly said.

“I don’t even think I want to imagine. Poor guy.” Renee moved further into the room, momentarily bypassing the external engines to get a better look at the Commander. Sazabi’s optical relay had been fully repaired since the last time Kelly had seen him. Even the melted paint chips had been buffed away, but he still looked like a twisted wreck of scrap rather than a mech. Renee's face softened. “The amount of pain he must have been in...”

“These are the engines we have running the Commander. Kao Lyn is still attempting to design the long-term replacement.” Kelly led Renee further into the room, frowning when the woman didn’t follow her right away. The one-eyed woman was still staring at Sazabi like a deer caught in headlights. “We’re running double maintenance on it ever since the Commander’s last close call.”

“I heard he brought himself back again. You ever see anything like that before?” Renee finally tore herself from her stupor. She made her way over to the first engine, the largest and most impressive. Delicate hands smoothed over the pristine metal with confident expertise.

Kelly found herself feeling envious. She hadn’t found confidence in anything since Bernard died. “Has anyone?”

“Beats me, I’m just a car mechanic. I couldn’t cut is as a mechanical-doctor, so you would know better than I would.” Renee shrugged, knelt, and started shuffling to get out of her heavy leather jacket. It looked... familiar somehow. Weird.

Kelly knelt with her. “Couldn’t cut it? Why not?”

“Wasn’t smart enough, I guess. I got street smarts  _maybe_ _,_ but I’ve done a lot of stupid shit to warrant the idiot-card.” Renee grinned, dipping her fingers into the groove on the underside of the first engine, as if this statement was still somehow worth being proud of. Or maybe she was just deflecting. The concealed trapdoor came off with a pop. “I lost my eye because I decided that beating up another kid in elementary school was a better idea than telling a teacher he pushed me down. I skimped out going to college because I thought being that ambitious was a waste of time. I lived in a shitty apartment and spent fifteen hours a day covered in expired transmission fluid because I didn’t want to be a paralegal in my brother’s law firm or a credit accountant at my sister’s currency management firm.”

Kelly frowned. “Lived?”

“I, uh, have alternate living arrangements now. It’s a looong story courteous of my bizarre decision making skills. I think it’s working out, though!” She laughed as she stuck her head inside the engine. Bad decision making indeed – the thing was still  _on!_ Kelly felt adrenaline shoot through her body, bracing herself for when the other woman inevitably caught on one of the fast-moving rotator belts or got stuck between another moving part. Nothing of the sort happened, but Renee started talking again. It was muffled nonsense over the roar of the machinery.

“What?”

“I  _said_ that never asking questions didn’t do me any favors. I mean,  _you_ ask a lot of questions and you’re a nurse working with the SDG! You know, that super cool secret organization with a base suspended from a  _satellite_ in  _space?_ Plus, you work with Commander Sazabi... one of the most important people in Neotopia right now. You’ve done super well for yourself!”

Kelly’s face flushed red. She  _had_ been asking a lot of questions. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be! I meant what I said. Asking questions is good. Separates sheep from the people smart enough  _not_ to be sheep.” Renee went to stick her head back inside again. She made sure to raise her voice to be heard this time around. “The only reason I’m here is because they needed a temporary engineer on hand. I’ll probably never be full SDG staff, but hey! You get to be! You should be proud of that.”

The rest of the afternoon went by fairly easy. Kelly went through her usual rounds with Sazabi, writing down his quarter-hour stats and re-adjusting the equipment as necessary. The midday examination of his internals revealed a normal functioning souldrive but still flatlined processor reading. At least the remaining motherboard still hadn’t caught fire like the last one. Kelly had been present for  _that_ mess too, and it hadn't been pretty. Renee continued working on the engines, checking each one over and leaving the room only once to pick up coolant to top the tanks. She left her jacket on the floor when she disappeared.

Kelly went to pick it up. It would’ve been a crime to leave there, considering how nice it was. A chocolate bar fell out of the left pocket. When Kelly went to replace it, something else felt out. Renee’s wallet flipped open as it hit the floor. Kelly swore, dodging down to pluck it up. The driver’s license wasn’t the first thing she saw. The p-card, brand new and fresh pressed, glared at her under the fluorescent lights. Kelly’s heart leapt into her throat. The back of her neck ached stiffly. She was a statue in place.

“I was evacuating with a small group off Bright Common. We holed up the night before in an unfinished apartment building to get away from the GMs hijacked by the Dark Axis,” Renee said softly. Kelly never heard her come back in. “We were going over one of the plaza bridges trying to leave the city when those  _bugs_ showed up. I tried to make a run it. One second I was passing over the bridge trying to make it to one of the closed shops, the next I was being stung. I almost ended up face first on the sidewalk before a telephone pole caught my fall. I felt like I swallowed dirt when I woke up.”

Kelly almost jumped out of her labcoat. She whirled around, her eyes wide. Renee “I didn’t mean to look. It just fell—”

“I saw when I came in. Don’t even worry!” Renee dismissed her with a smile, waving two large canisters of coolant. They must have been forty pounds each, but she handled them like they were nothing. A stepladder was tucked under her arm. After clamoring with the ladder and filling all three engines, generously topping each one off with a strangely gleeful demeanor, she went to affix the trap doors back onto the units.

“You must be at least a  _little_ upset about this.” Kelly wasn’t sure what she was fishing for. As Renee finished cleaning up, she felt even more compelled to ask questions. “The Commander being granted amnesty, what happened during the second invasion, being asked to work with him after everything that's happened... you could have been killed, just like all those people who turned into statues and didn’t wake up. How are you not angry?”

“Sure I was a little upset. Hell, I still  _am_.” Renee grunted and twisted around, practically shoving her entire body into the chassis of the engine’s cage when the last door wouldn’t fit back on. She grunted and pulled out with a frown. “Whoever kitbashed this hunk of junk together doesn’t have any appreciation for art. Hand me a screwdriver? Gonna have to readjust this.”

“I think it was Dr. Bellwood.” Kelly fished out the screwdriver from the in-room toolkit.

“Jesus. Like I said...” Renee took the screwdriver. “No appreciation for art. Have you  _seen_ the dimensional transport device?”

Kelly laughed. It took her a moment to realize that it was the first time she had done so since the first invasion. She laughed and laughed and  _kept_ laughing. By the time she realized she was making a fool of herself, Renee had pulled herself out of the engine and was looking at her with an air of concern. Kelly had to dismiss her with what little composure she had left.

“I’m fine, I promise,” she said. She finally started to calm down, bringing with it the familiar weight of hopelessness once more. She missed feeling happy about things.  _Really_  missed it. “I haven’t found anything funny like that in a long time.”

“Laughter is the best medicine,” Renee said with a grin. “My, uh, new roommate got his face stuck in a lampshade last week. I was laughing so hard that I cried. I... I also found it pretty hard to find stuff funny after I was petrified, and I’m not even one of the people that  _lost_ someone.”

“How do you do it?” Kelly asked. She couldn’t help but let her voice twist an octave higher. She wondered if she sounded desperate.

Renee collected her things, used a datapad to write up her status report of the engines, and then passed it off to Kelly. Her smile was infectious. “One day and one carton of eggs at a time. Or fourteen. Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know anyone who sells eggs in bulk, would you? Asking for my roommate.”

“That’s weird.”

“Jesus Christ, you have  _no idea._ ” Renee waved to her on the way out. It would be another few months for her to recognize exactly where she had seen that leather jacket before. She saw it again the second time she watched the Doga Bomber’s interrogation video, sitting on the table in front of the Axian. When she finally sat down to watch the whole version from start to end, she recognized Renee handing it to him almost immediately. The face-blur effect and voice changing software couldn't hide her.

One day at a time, Renee said.

Kelly wondered whether her one day would stop feeling like forever.

**vii**

She couldn’t risk seeing a therapist about the nightmares. Therapy meant being prodded in ways she wasn’t prepared to deal with. It meant having to relive the worst day of her life when she was petrified and lost Bernard. It meant having to relive the  _second_ worst day of her life three months later when the Doga Bombers came down. So for now, she suffered in silence.

Or as silent as you could be when you woke up screaming every other night.

It was the reason she couldn’t go back to the condominium she shared with Bernard. The first night she tried to spend alone, she woke up the entire neighborhood. The police were called in to respond and she ended up in the hospital. It was the reason she had to move back in with her dads and have Logan sleep in the same room as her. She loved Rossi dearly, but waking up with a GM in the room after what happened with the control horns didn't strike her as a good idea. She couldn’t go back to her own house without thinking of Bernard... but always sleeping in the company of her human dad didn’t help either. There was enough of a strain on their marriage already.

Over time, the nightmare evolved.

In the beginning, the nightmare was always about the first invasion. She and Bernard would be turning towards the parking garage where they left her car when the first control horns came down. High powered magnets, buzzing even over the sound of the city around them, would make sure they hit their mark. Although Rossi and Logan hadn’t been in the city proper in real life, she remembered the story her dads told her and managed to incorporate  _that_ into her nightmare as well. As she and Bernard went to cross the street, she could see her dads on a nameless restaurant patio enjoying evening cocktails.

Rossi was always the first GM who succumbed to the control horn’s effects in the dream. The horn came down with a crash, sending him staggering as the weight of it threw him off balance. He would drop his fuel cube and knock a table over, shattering plates and sending two other patrons tumbling. His visor would flash bright red and he would immediately turn to the nearest GM. The waitress never stood a chance. Rossi would seize her around the throat and throw her over the railing of the restaurant into the street. Rossi would leap over the railing, grab the nearest control horn that never found a target, and slam it on the top of her head with enough force to crack her visor.

Logan would shout and try to stop him. He would leap over the railing, try to pry Rossi away... the sound that Logan's arm made when Rossi turned around and snapped it clear in two made Kelly want to vomit. The same hands that once held her up as a baby would grab Logan around the forearm,  _twist,_ and snap her other father's arm like a twig. Blood would bloom through the fabric of Logan's sweater, a jagged bone fragment piercing straight through the fleece. Logan would go down screaming. Then Rossi would punch him square in the jaw. As went down, unconscious, Rossi would take off off down the street towards Neotopia Tower. The waitress he helped infect would go on to rush other terrified GMs, many of them now leaning out store shops to see what had happened.

Then the dream would shift. The sky would be darker than she remembered, but the buzzing was such a raw memory that it felt like it was happening all over again.

If she could close her eyes, it would almost feel like nothing changed at all.

“Run!” Bernard’s voice was too far away. “RUN!”

The Peace Core officer she had seen fall to her death on horseback was there. The horse reared and became a perfectly sculpted concrete statue. The rider fell to the street and shattered into thousands of pieces. People who were not smart enough to stop when they realized they were bit tumbled with the force of inertia and smashed to pieces. Logan would trip and fall, turn over to shield himself from the stampede, and end up as a pile of gravel trampled underfoot. Sometimes it was people she worked with after she was hired to be a nurse at Blanc Base, like Elizabeth Keene or even other SDG staff. Dr. Keene would go to shield her two young children and end up shattering as a GM tripped over them. Alison Miller, the communications officer from the Justice interview, would try to work her way across the stampede to a nearby storefront. Her body would fall apart as she was clipped by others charging past, losing both her arms and part of her face before her statue was finally knocked over. Renee was there this time too, tripping over her own footing and colliding with a telephone pole, turning around just in time to have her statue accidently body slammed by other panicked pedestrians. Not even the leather jacket could be saved.

By now, she would realize that Bernard was missing and would stop to find him. The buzzing would intensify, the grey cloud exploding around her and thousands of bugs stinging her all at once. By now, she would have woken up screaming.

But after the most recent attack, her nightmare had evolved.

After realizing that Bernard was no longer behind her, Kelly would freeze in place and spin to find him. The thickest front of the insect cloud hadn't hit her yet, but the grey air was still choked with dust from crushed concrete. Visibility was nearly zero when the first Doga Bomber came down. They would collide with the top of the building to her right, cleaving its highest corner and cutting down its side like fist through wet clay. Shrapnel would hurdle overhead and cut down a man and a woman, hand in hand, as they tried to take shelter on the opposite sidewalk. Blood streaked across the air. Another Doga would come down in the middle of the road and send bodies flying through shop windows. The Doga closest to her would strike the top of the traffic signal on Meadows Street and crumple with the force of the impact. The metal would buckle with a hefty crash before collapsing and hurling the mech to the ground. The Axian never exploded, but a fire immediately broke out along their rightmost wing turbine. They would fall with a pitiful crash, neck twisting unnaturally as their broken body became engulfed in flames. A mother and her two crying children would take off screaming past her. Statues of petrified humans smashed, cars overturned, a little dog still on its leash would dash by barking in terror... the Axians kept coming down over and over and  _over_ _,_ and her screams for Bernard were swallowed by the urban apocalypse erupting around her.

When the buzzing and explosions finally stopped, the city was deathly still. Silent. Traffic lights flashed, running off their scripts as if nothing was gone wrong. No statues remained. Destroyed cars that may or may have actually been dead Axians littered the street. She stood, frozen, sobbing through gritted teeth. A child was crying somewhere faraway.

_“Hhhhhhhh...”_

The sound came from behind her.  _This_ was new. By now she knew she was in a nightmare and that she should have woken up screaming by now. She tried to remember where she was. If she was at home, Logan would have woken her up by now. If she was sleeping in the staff barracks at Blanc Base, another nurse would have stirred her. She tended to yell in her sleep when these nightmares happened... had no one come in to get her? Had she made the mistake of falling asleep alone? Was she going to have to force _herself_ awake? Her attempts to do so went in vain. Against her will, she found herself being forced to turn around.

A mangled hand seized her by the shoulder, dripping with partially liquefied metal and steaming. Kelly could  _feel it_ burning through her clothes and scalding her skin like a brand. Terror overwhelmed the alien sensation of pain in her own dream as she looked up. The shape had dragged itself out of a massive flaming crater, standing with a body that was barely holding together under the weight of the planet’s gravity. Scorched mud armor that might have once been bright red ran down the mech’s body in rivers, dripping and pooling like blood. Kelly's scream caught in her throat.

Sazabi reached up with his other arm, His broken jaw flapped wide open, exposing a gullet full of razor sharp grinders. The Commander's optic flared in agony and his voice was unbelievably loud.  _“HELP ME WAKE UP!”_

Kelly  _screamed._

**viii**

Marianne Burghs, one of the other nurses that Kelly usually worked with, was shaking her awake. Kelly surged up and almost punched her in the face.

“Kelly! It's me!” Marianne trembled, jerking back to avoid the blow. As Kelly's eyes adjusted to her surroundings, she could see that she  _had_ fallen asleep by herself in the nurse's lounge. She was on the sofa with a half-eaten bowl of rice on the table in front of her. The room was so dark - how long had it been? Kelly wanted to ask, but Marianne's eyes were wide and fearful. There was shouting in panic beyond the room in the hallway.

An alarm started to go off. The room flooded with red light. A frightened voice squeaked over the intercom.  _“All available emergency personnel, please report to room twenty-six!”_

“It's  _Sazabi,”_ Marianne choked. She might not have even realized she had woken up Kelly from her nightmare, she was so scared. “He's  _awake!”_

Kelly shook off her post-nightmare haze and followed Marianne to the Commander’s room. Part of her wondered if she was still in her nightmare. Everything seemed to move in slow motion and was too surreal to quite latch onto reality. Sazabi’s room was flooded with nursing staff and doctors who she didn't recognize, but everyone had congregated together to try and state the mayhem. Sazabi’s entire body was vibrating and lifting off the table as staff tried to strap him down. Compromised frame or not, he was still strong enough to throw humans and GMs off him like they were nothing. The Commander’s optic was flared, jaw snapped wide open to the point where it looked like he had broken it again.

As soon as she entered the room, The Commander's head snapped in her direction and he  _screamed._

Kelly felt every muscle in her body surge with electric fear.

“Somebody page Chief Kao Lyn!” The GM nurse was trying to loop a strap around the Commander's arm. The heavy rubber snapped like a cheap elastic and sent the poor mech flying backwards. He collided with a haphazardly placed crash card and went down hard.

“What happened!?” That was another doctor rushing into the room past Kelly and Marianne. “Somebody find Dr. Keene! Call Chief Haro!”

“This  _shell_ started thrashing on its own again!” Alexander Reichold’s voice was the clearest of anyone in the room. His voice always had a tendency to carry. As the crowd parted in the melee of bodies, she could see him pushed up against the wall between several non-medical aides from the communications department. They were trying their best to help with the restraints as well. Reichold's face was red with fury. “Hodges, cut the  _power! Do as I say!_ This lunacy has gone on long enough!”

“NO!” Catherine Hodges was already there, trying to hold down one of the Commander’s arms with her bare hands. “We wait it out until Lizzie gets here! You’re not the lead doctor!”

“I am the highest-ranking person in this room and I  _command you_ to  _cut the fucking power!”_ Reichold went to shove his way through the crowd, headed for the engines that Renee had repaired less than ten hours earlier. This time he was successful, knocking two communications staff members over and shoving his way past a third. A GM tried to stop him, but he elbowed them out of the way with enough force to send them falling. “That thing is a danger to everyone and it’s going to stop unless we turn it off for good! I’ll do it  _myself!”_

Sazabi lurched upward on the cot. His broken backstrut had never been fixed, so his posture was lopsided. Painful. His welded joints snapped and caused him to flop over like a poorly wielded marionette. His once powerful voice broke, lanced with static as his souldrive started to brighten and falter in its gyration. “It remains to be seen if you will be a superior, or an inferior product! I will not disappoint you! I’m afraid I cannot take your word for it, unit! I want to  _please_ you! Superior performance will please the General, inferior performance will anger him! What happens then!? You will be destroyed! I will be perfect!  _Is this mine!? MAKE ME PERFECT!”_

Kelly felt something in her brain  _seize,_ and the world went dark before exploding in a flashing sea of red. She tasted copper. She tasted dirt. The walls around her came tumbling down in the city that she loved, and the nightmare restarted all over again.

**ix**

When she came to, someone was shining a flashlight in her face and tapping her on the shoulder. There were no blaring alarms this time. The room was bright and warm. Whoever had woken her up had the decency to do so before the got to the part where the Doga came crashing down.

“No pupillary response. She might have a concussion. How did she hit her head, was it Reichold or the fall?”

“Lizzie, I think she's waking up! Should I try her emergency contact again?”

As the light was averted and her vision came back into focus, Kelly was able to recognize Dr. Keene. She was sweating, a streak of red motor oil staining the front of her pristine white lab coat. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes?” Kelly tried to blink past the light. Her throat felt raw, like she had been screaming, and it  _hurt_ _._ Her throat, her mouth, her teeth... her head was the worst of it, pounding in tandem with her still racing heart. She felt like she had been asleep for days. “Yes, I can hear you...”

“Is this Sazabi talking, or Kelly?” Dr. Keene's voice was hard. Her posture was rigid. Behind here there were several other officers, but none of them were nursing or medical staff as expected. The base's resident tactical team was dressed in full riot gear, standing back several feet with shields raised. The recently installed security cameras were all trained at her. Kao Lyn stood in the doorway, glasses off and just  _staring_ at her.

Past a GM with a foam baton, she could see the Commander lying on the cot. He wasn't moving, but his souldrive was bright with a slowly petering activation cycle.

“What?” Kelly tried to sit up, then realized she couldn’t. Two GMs on either side of her were holding her upright and had their hands locked on her arms. “What are you talking about? I’m  _Kelly._ You... what's going on?”

“It’s her.” That was Chief Kao Lyn. He was shaking as he came into the room, immediately waving back the riot officers. He turned to Dr. Keene, his voice low. “Get the poor girl out of here. Get her back home and get her as far away from this room as possible.”

Kelly was forced to her feet. The world was spinning and her head felt like it was going to split in two. Sazabi remained on the cot, spread-eagle and motionless. The floor by her feet was streaked with his previous shade of crimson red. That was when she realized that the streak across Dr. Keene's coat wasn't motor oil. Handprints and scuffed footprints marked the floor. Her own scrubs were covered in streaks. It was on her face and in her  _mouth_.

She was covered in blood.

Kelly closed her eyes.

There was  _no_ being an optimist about this.

**x**

“We don’t think you’re Michael’s Justice, by the way.” Mac’s voice was soft. “Just as a heads up.”

Site B was an on-colony warehouse that served as a secondary base of operations for the SDG, with the title of Site A properly going to Blanc Base.  _Noir Base_  was nicknamed for the black warehouse that made up its exterior. It was far enough away from the main city to procure the least amount of suspicion from citizens, but ever since the invasion, the need for secrecy had been averted entirely. Not only that, but it's secondary purpose as a gunperry storage facility could not be voided. Now it was a planet-surface office, although the warehouse section had been converted to store additional assets of the SDG.

Of the one hundred people killed in the first invasion, only seventy-one statues were still completely – or mostly – intact.

She counted as she passed them by. The warehouse was dark, but individual lights installed above each statue allowed proper illumination of the petrified bodies. Those that had been broken were contained in boxes with as much powdered concrete as could be recovered. While it was obvious while the smashed statues never revived, no one could pin a reason for the intact statues. A popular opinion was that it had to do with microscopic damage the statues received. Any stray chip, crack, or weakness in the integrity of the petrified person seemed to deter the white bagu bagu from delivering a healing sting.

“Did you?” Kelly felt strange being here. Every statue she passed was labeled with a holographic display next to the mounts that held them in place. They were hardly grave markers, although one of the first bits of information displaced showed where a headstone for the person was placed in the real world. It also revealed the name of the statue, contact information for next-of-kin, where they were petrified...

“I heard about what happened in Blanc Base,” Mac said. “You really don't remember what happened?”

“No.” Kelly felt her insides lurch. All of her memories, both recent and past, were incredibly painful to her. How could her world come crashing around her so fast. “All I know is that I hurt someone very badly.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Dr. Reichold was an ass for trying to turn off the Commander's life support. Sure he was scary, but he was alive and  _talking.”_ Mac chuckled a little. “You think after all that we've tried to do, Reichold would be a little less willing to throw it all away.”

“Maybe you should investigate him.”

“He wouldn't be stupid enough to throw his entire career away. We ruled him out weeks ago.” Mac looked up at her, flashing his visor. “I heard they took you off the case.”

“For my own safety, yes.” They passed more statues and boxes marked with names. So many lives ruined forever - she wondered if there were others in the city suffering the same way she was. Of course there were, she was selfish to there _weren't_ _._ “Something... happened to me. Something big. They don't know what it means yet, but it definitely involved the Commander and it could be huge.”

“I'm glad you're okay, though.”

But was she really? Would she ever be?

Bernard’s statue was in the back of the warehouse, wedged between a crate labeled Mason Wolff and a cowering statue marked Isabella Zingel. Bernard was still bowed over, curled against an invisible body as if to shield it from the stings of the bagu bagu swarm that claimed him months earlier. Kelly had woken up. Bernard remained as a bold sigil, sculpted by evolution herself.

Mac shuffled. “Want me to give you a moment?”

“Yes please.”

Mac left. As he quietly trotted away to give her some space, she edged forward. It was discerning to even consider the statue was once a living person. Especially one that she had loved. She gingerly reached out, gently tracing her fingers across the smooth crack running down Bernard’s face. She remembered seeing a chip in his face when she woke up from her own petrification, but even a few months of deterioration had made it noticeably worse. The chip was now just that and a distinct hairline crack running down his cheek. Not even the SDG’s most secure hanger could keep him from falling apart. How long would it be before the concrete failed to the point of shattering completely? Ten years? Five?

“Goodbye, Bernard. I love you. I will  _always_ love you.”

She left him a Kelly's Orchid. His hands were curled in a way that she could fold the flower against his fingers, allowing it to rest comfortably. She exited the warehouse into the bright sunlight and never went back to that sad place again. It wasn’t that she no longer loved him – she always would – but it was a tomb of unimaginable grief, a morgue where the bodies could never be given the solace of rot. The statues would be there for a lifetime, generations, before someone finally put them to rest in the ground where their graveyard markers lay scattered across Neotopia. Whether they put Bernard in the ground as a solid piece or dust was a decision that she would leave to his parents. She didn’t want to remember him as anything else than what he was, not what he had turned into.

Rossi and Logan later drove with her to the cemetery where his real-world marker had been placed. She placed another Kelly's Orchid right on the headstone, dragging her fingers across his name.

“I don't blame you, Commander.” she said softly. She started to cry. “I don’t blame you at all.”

**xi**

When the Red Comet came down, she didn’t feel anything. Fires sprung up around her, but she wasn’t cold. The world tumbled down around her, but she was unmoved. She felt absolutely nothing. Was this what dying felt like?

If she closed her eyes, she felt like she had been here before.

It was her first time out of the house in months, beyond what she already did for work. She had gotten a job with the SDG in the weeks following Bernard’s death, if only to give herself an excuse to get out of her parent's house. In a way she felt like she owed it to the Super Dimensional Guard, regardless if their best efforts to revive her fiancé had been in vain. The work was something to keep her busy. With time, she felt like she could move on. Maybe not  _recover_ _,_ but finding a reason to live was tempting. She still loved living. She still loved her parents. She still loved being alive.

She was going to do it for Bernard.

The pandemonium was instant when the first Doga Bomber came down. It came down on top of the office building to her right, cleaving its highest corner and cutting down its side and raining glass. Shrapnel hurdled overhead and cut down a man and a woman, hand in hand, trying to take shelter on the opposite sidewalk. Blood streaked across the air. Another Doga came down in the middle of the road and sent bodies flying through shop windows. The Doga closest to her struck the top of the traffic signal on Meadows Street and crumpled with the force of the impact. The metal buckled with a hefty crash before collapsing and hurling the mech to the ground. The Axian didn’t explode, but a first immediately broke out along their rightmost wing turbine. They fell with a pitiful crash, neck twisted unnaturally as their broken body became engulfed in flames. A mother and her two crying children took off screaming. A statue sitting in the middle of the nearby roundabout smashed, cars overturned, a little dog on its leash dashed by barking in terror... the Axians kept coming down over and over and  _over_ _,_ and her screams for Bernard were swallowed by the urban apocalypse erupting around her. But Bernard was gone and she knew it.

Sirens started blasting. The Kelly's Orchids she had bought from the florist's shop just around the corner fell from her hands. She was going to bring them to Bernard.

Somewhere behind her, there was a massive explosion. A car. A GM nearly bowled her over as he tore by in a blind panic, shielding a second GM with a shattered faceplate. Kelly spun. The sky was spotted with falling Dogas and now swarming gunperries that attempted to intercept the suiciding soldiers in vain.

She closed her eyes.

Yeah.

It was like nothing changed at all.


	13. Nicholas Walker

**Hold it together, birds of a feather, nothing but lies and crooked wings.**

**I have the answer, spreading the cancer...**

**I’m a believer, nothing could be worse, all these imaginary friends.**

**Hiding betrayal, driving the nail...**

**Why can’t I breathe, evil angel?**

_Evil Angel_ – Breaking Benjamin

**i**

Professor Amelia Kaiser, age seventy-three and stone-faced as a gargoyle, stood at the head of her classroom as the next slide flashed into view. Here mere presence behind the podium demanded utmost respect. The crowded amphitheater was silent. The hum of the projector lingered like an ethereal spirit, haunting every corner of the room with its heavy presence. Kaiser’s voice scratched through her mouthpiece. “Who can tell me about the Ghost-Machine theory?”

It was October fifth, a friday before a long weekend. The fall semester of N.C. 0253 marked the last stretch of Nicholas Walker’s senior year at the Regild Health Science Foundation. It was Neotopia’s oldest and most prominent non-arts college, its campus nestled in the crook of the city’s education district. It attracted a wide array of students with the drive and ambition to pursue the sciences, and Walker was no exception. He would be graduating with high honors and forty credits excess of his double major and had already been accepted to Laplace Von Braun Research Institute to begin his graduate degree work... he only had one elective class left between him and his early-graduation diploma, PSY507 _Overview of the Personhood Mind,_ taught by Dr. Kaiser. Meticulous and an authority in her field, she was an award-winning psychologist and the single most intimidating person Walker had met in his life.

The classroom remained silent, choked by darkness. The students waited with baited breath.

Walker pursed his lips, recognizing the theory name but not quite able to place it. For the fourth time in as many minutes, he readjusted his arrangement of books in front of him. His pens and notepad received a similar treatment, somehow still not _quite_ straight enough. He hoped the distraction would buy enough time for a response to Professor Kaiser’s prompt, though there was no such luck. The gallery kept its voice guarded. The hum of the projector and a stray cough several rows back were the only indications that the room had life.

Professor Kaiser was not amused by this blatant lack of enthusiasm. She gripped the edges of her podium and scanned the crowd. Her eyes were fire and ice all at once. “As seniors with a _supposed_ knowledge of how these lecture-courses work, I’m disappointed. This wouldn’t be such a difficult question if you had watched the program that I recommended last week.”

At this, a hand finally _did_ go up. A young woman in the third row, house-left, allowed her arm to rise in quiet defiance. Walker wondered why she felt the inclination to commit social suicide. Had she had a bad day? Was she simply a glutton for punishment? Kaiser called on them.

“You said it was only a recommendation.”

“When your professor _suggests_ that you watch a television program, do not misinterpret it as an optional assignment. I expected _better_ from some you.” Professor Kaiser reached into her coat pocket and produced a small phone. She pulled it up to the podium stand, then glanced at the clock on the far wall with a frown. She was double-checking _something_. Was she expecting someone?

Without waiting to be called on, another voice rose. Masculine and closer than the first student. Walker recognized the student as another one of his classmates from another course. “This isn’t even referenced on the syllabus. We’re supposed to be reviewing for the—”

“Also not listed on the syllabus is _failing,_ yet that appears to be the direction everyone in this course is heading in.” Again, Kaiser checked her phone. Walker wondered what her background was, how she rearranged her apps, what her ringtones were. You could tell a _lot_ about a person’s mind by looking at their phone! By the way she was glancing back and forth between the screen and the clock, she was becoming agitated... or at least more agitated than usual. “Now, unless the guest speaker I invited today decides to show his face, the lot of you _will_ be getting a ten-page essay on this. And yes, I _do_ check period and spacing sizes.”

There was a panicked murmur that swept over the room, a slow-moving gunshot of fresh anxiety. Walker frowned and readjusted his pens again. A high-intensity paper this early into the semester? That would interfere with the time he already set aside for his graduation capstone! His thesis still needed work. He couldn’t be weighed down by a teacher’s revenge-assignment: not if he wanted to succeed, and he _had_ to succeed.

“So let me to ask again,” Kaiser said, loud. Silence gripped the room once more. She let her words linger, scalding. “Who can tell me, about the Ghost-Machine theory?”

A door flew open in the back of the classroom. Rude light spilled into the dim amphitheater and Nicholas Walker lost about five minutes off his lifespan. The recently reorganized books and pens went flying to the ground as he kicked the underside of his desk. A student yelled as the notepad bounced off the back of his head, but Walker whirled around before the other senior could toss it back at him. The rest of the classroom startled and followed suit, following the fresh rays of sunlight to the source of the commotion.

The newest arrival in the classroom was an older man, and he did _not_ look like he belonged on their campus. His zipped leather jacket was studded with metal spikes and beads, lanced with a patchwork of recent repairs like battle scars. The collar was turned up to hide most of its owners face, but there was no concealing the man’s dark shades. Walker had to squint to make out the matching yin-yang optics. As he walked down into the bowels of the theater, the heavy buckles on his boots clicking and the door swinging closed behind him, Walker finally saw the embroidered silver rose on the back of the jacket. It was a familiar sight that had his nerves set on edge in seconds. The Steel Roses had been on the news earlier that morning for _another_ flour bombing outside a GM reclamation center... and there was white powder on the man’s coat.

“The Ghost-Machine theory is based on the Old World novel _Ghost in the Machine_ , written by Arthur Koestler in O.W. 1967 about philosophical psychology,” the man said. His voice carried like Kaiser’s, even when unaided by a microphone. Dry flour rolled off his body like dust as he strolled down the steps towards the theater stage, towards Professor Kaiser. Despite his appearance, he spoke like he had tenure. “Philosopher Gilbert Ryle coined the title to describe the dualist account of a mind–body relationship. Koestler and Ryle shared the idea that the mind of a person is an independent entity from the body. For modern-day use of the phrase in Neotopia, the same concepts can be applied to robot AI.”

Walker perked to attention. Robot AI! So _that_ was where he heard the theory name before!

“It was the theory that helped derail Mayor Caulton’s re-election in N.C. 180, when robots were finally granted voting rights after _Caboose v. Caulton._ The High Court ruled in the GM plaintiff’s favor and immediately granted voting privileges to all sapient-class AI over the age of three. Despite the loss of the court case, Caulton still believed that robot AI were only parroting human behavior and continued campaigning with anti-robot sentimentality.” Kaiser watched the new arrival with a sharp eye. She made no motion to dismiss his sudden interruption... she _had_ been expecting him. “It was a decision that cost his reelection campaign.”

“The minds of the AI were their own, regardless of the materials that made up their physical bodies.” The  mystery man came to the barricade separating the lowermost walkway from the gallery. There was zero hesitation as he lobbed himself over the side like a common thug. Then he braced himself on the apron of the theater stage and hauled himself up. “It’s also worth noting that the Caulton reelection is the first in Neotopia’s history where a candidate had an entire demographic vote against him. He never won a single robot vote and lost the election to Augustus Gathermoon.”

Kaiser tolerated the intrusion into her space. She nodded to the man without a trace of her usual scorn, then looked to regard her collection of students. “History is just as prevalent as psychology, class. Never forget this.”

“Back on topic, the Ghost-Machine theory also answers the mind-body problem addressed by philosopher René Descartes. _He_ questioned how the mind and body could causally interact without biological conflict.” The leather clad man stopped several feet away from Kaiser, turning to face the audience. The flour clung like a second skin as he... what? Struck a pose? At first Walker couldn’t tell _what_ he was doing, but then the man’s hand started to drift. Knees bending, right arm extended and locked, the other slowly panning in front of him... it looked like a yoga position, though far more intimidating. Karate? Kungfu? The man continued. “By acknowledging that the mind and body are separate entities, the Ghost-Machine theory as it applies to Neotopia reveals that the human mind _and_ robot AI are equal. We are all ghosts. Our vessels are only—”

“While I usually _loathe_ the interruption of decent monologues...” Kaiser cut him off with a wave of her hand, then gestured to him fully. “Class, this is Kao Lyn. He used to be one of my students as part of a private tutor program and holds three doctorates. For those of you with the presence of mind to follow up on recent events, you will also recognize him from his exploits as a ringleader of the Steel Roses.” Professor Kaiser snorted, looking back down at her notes. “Late as usual, but since he’s here we’ll count our blessings. There must not be a warrant out for his arrest today.”

Kao Lyn shuffled in place. “A possibility.”

A small voice rose up from the furthest corner of the classroom, to the right of the house. “Isn’t he a terrorist!?”

“Civil disobedience and terrorism are hardly the same thing,” Kaiser  said. She frowned and looked up. “To be frank, giving non-humanoid robots _hands_ shouldn’t even pass as vandalism.”

Another voice, louder. “But what if it's private property?”

“An AI’s rights shouldn’t continue to be trampled just because they inhibit a body owned by a corporation job!” Kao Lyn’s voice carried, once again, across the amphitheater with shocking efficiency. No wonder he was in the Steel Roses - they were so loud and disorderly! “We don’t put humans in straitjackets while they work their office jobs in Neotopia Tower. The freedom to move just as important as any civil right!”

“What’s the point of this?” Walker didn’t know the student’s name, but she was a double major like him. She was close enough in the dark theater to make out her expression puckering in confusion. “We’re psych students, not AI-rights pioneers. Isn’t this Ghost-Machine topic better suited for the philosophy goons over at Krung Thep?”

That drew some laughs. The chuckles died quickly at the sight of Kaiser’s expression. Her stare was like acid chewing straight through their grade point averages, and boy oh _boy_ would those GPAs have suffered.

“Those so-called _goon_ philosophy majors of Krung Threp University at least have the decency to take their college careers _seriously_. As psych majors, you should be aware of the fact that our field is constantly changing. The mind is not a stationary object that you can simply capture in your palm and study to your heart’s content. Evolution of the mind is far more swift than evolution of the body... and a refusal to keep up and adapt to that evolving science _will_ cost your careers.” Kaiser finally moved onto the next slide, showing side-by-side diagrams of a human brain and a robot processor. It was actually very interesting, showing how parts of both brains lit up in relation to one another. “Against the advisement of Regild’s idiot Board of Directors, the second half of this semester’s first unit will cover both human _and_ mech psychological studies. The adjusted syllabus will shift focus to incorporate the Ghost-Machine theory.”

“Robots are not people,” another student said. He sounded angry - _really_ angry. “I’m in college to earn my doctorate, not study the mind of something that doesn’t even _have_ a real brain. The Ghost-Machine theory is still a theory. Nothing was ever proven beyond a basic thesis. The Imaginary Friend clause—”

Kaiser had the demeanor of a marble statue on her best days. At the mere mention of _imaginary_ , her face changed. She looked less like the woman with a disposition of ice and was more furious than Walker had ever seen her. The rest of the classroom felt the shift too, braced themselves.

“Yes, I am _familiar_ with the Imaginary Friend clause,” Kaiser said. It implies that robot AI might as well be imaginary friends with bodies, because they themselves are not real in the way that we _humans_ are real. We know humans have consciousness because _we_ are human, we _know_ we are real… so by the logic of the Imaginary Friend clause, we can infer that every time you pick up the phone or e-mail your parents off-campus, there is the strong possibility that they are not real either. You can’t see them as human from that perspective.”

The student stammered. “Wait, that’s not—”

“Ultimately, your referral to robots not being sapient was purely discriminatory and you failed to make any sort of point. Congratulations.”

Kao Lyn cackled. The student body cowered in utter submission.

“You can’t discriminate against someone who isn’t a real person!” The student stood up, singling himself out for everyone to see. Walker recognized him from the campus but never met him personally. The lighting was too low to make out distinct features, but Walker could see blonde hair and fair skin, flushed with fury. “How can you call us out for not taking this course seriously when you won’t even follow the syllabus! You can’t be - _racist_ \- for thinking that robots aren’t people. They’re _robots!”_

The classroom was dead silent.

Kao Lyn raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Kaiser.

Kaiser waited for the echo to die away before speaking.

“In the Old World, discrimination based on melanin - skin tone - and sexual orientation ran rampant,” she said. Her voice was controlled and quiet, but not so quiet that she went unheard. “Women in many powerful societies were valued less than their male counterparts, even having limitations on their reproductive rights and pay rate. Would you willingly pass the Imaginary Friend clause onto them as well, simply because _they_ did not fit the ideal of a perfect human being once?”

The student said nothing. Then he picked up his books, stormed out of his seat, and left through the nearest exit. Light flooded from the outside before the door closed with a heavy bang.

“The theory of space-travel and space-jump technology was _also_ a theory at best, and look where we are today. Adrift in a sea of stars, far from home, with only our thoughts of false security to keep us company... while the Ghost-Machine theory may never have a _definite_ scientific answer to back its claims...” Kaiser, despite her usual cold demeanor, began to _laugh_. It was as oddly charming as it was menacing. “The human brain and our mind has evolved far faster than our bodies. Who is to say that the advancement of robotics is not the final step of human evolution?”

The classroom was silent. The lecture continued for another hour, a back-and-forth between Kaiser and Kao Lyn, before the block ended and the students fled to the safety of the outside world. Walker had never been so glad to be out of a classroom in his entire life. On his way to lunch, he saw Kao Lyn fleeing over a ten-foot barrier wall with nothing but a running start and his own bare hands. Exhausted Peace Core and campus security officers were trying to run him down. Flour was still dusting off that Steel Rose embroidered jacket, puffing over the wall like a smokescreen as the cackling vandal dropped to the other side. Kao Lyn wouldn’t be arrested for setting off the flour bombs downtown for another six days, making it the longest manhunt in Neotopia’s history.

In the weeks that would follow, a large portion of the class would switch to different blocks or drop Kaiser’s course altogether. Nicholas Walker was among them, though not without inflicting a great deal of disappointment on himself. The course was so high intensity that he couldn’t waste time on an elective. But the course haunted him. Decades after graduation, after receiving his doctorate, after Professor Kaiser passed away in her home at the humble age of one hundred and three… he was a believer. The Ghost-Machine theory was _very_ real, and all the “imaginary friends” that came with it.

And nothing could be worse.

**ii  
**

Dr. Nicholas Walker, fifty-three years old and sitting at his freshly tidied desk in Robo House, almost suffered pulmonary heart failure as Alexander Reichold burst through his office door.  It was October first, N.C. 0286. Monday.

The office was small, walls cast in comforting white like the rest of the facility. It had all the necessities that made an office successful, like a wide desk and dual computer monitors for multitasking. The walls were decorated with shelves lined with high-end textbooks, but his favorite was the one to his immediate left. His diplomas, including the humble bachelor’s degree from Regild, sat mounted in frames that complimented the rest of the room’s decor.  It was a grandeur space that had so much potential - now being woefully wasted. Robo House hadn’t had a patient since the last Axian to leave its treatment-center.

Pens and papers went flying off his desk as Dr. Walker unwittingly kicked the underside in terror. He looked at his clock, catching it seconds before it could fall to its death on the floor. By Scott, the administrative offices weren’t even supposed to be open yet! Reichold must have used an admin keycard to get in this early. The young man was flushed red and fuming, looking more like a rocket about to go off than a surgeon. His hand, only recently out of its cast since the Commander bit down on it during _Fallen Eagle_ , was now wrapped in fresh bandages. Faint red strained to be seen through the bound strips of white.

Reichold did nothing to restrain the volume of his voice. “I KNOW WHAT HIS SURVIVING MOTHERBOARD IS FOR! _”_

“What?” Walker stood up, banging his desk a second time. The clock fell and struck the ground with a cringe-worthy clatter. Ah, well, _that_ was going to need replacing. A shame too, it had been so beautiful! He readjusted his spectacles. “Alex, what happened to your—?

“The Commander!” Reichold was shaking as he shoved his bandaged appendage into Walker’s face. It was wrapped all the way up to the mid-forearm, continuing to spot red where stray stitches had already popped. The injury was fresh wrapped - this had happened less than four or five hours ago. “He woke _up_ this morning, Nick! He was thrashing and screaming! That brat Elizabeth wasn’t there, so I tried to take control of the situation and deactivate him for our own safety, but one of the nurses-! Sazabi started rambling and the souldrive activated, and she turned around and-!”

“Alex!” Walker reached out. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to grab hold to. Alex’s shoulder to try and calm him? The situation as a whole? A concrete explanation to latch onto? “Hold it together! What—?”

 _“She bit me right on the fucking hand!_ It was Commander Sazabi, I _know_ it!” Reichold pulled away, trembling as if he had been burned. Walker knew that trying to get him to calm down at this point was impossible. The man had a temper and was increasingly unstable in the weeks following _Fallen Eagle._ Whether it was the Commander himself or his rivalry with Elizabeth Keene that set him off, it didn’t matter. Alexander Reichold was spiraling faster than Walker could hope to drag his protege back to reality. “The surviving  motherboard in that _thing’s_ head must be what controlled his funnels! Except now he’s using it to control _people!”_

“She _bit_ you?” Dr. Walker felt his insides clench. It was barbaric to imagine. He wondered if Reichold had taken any pain medication yet. If he was _this_ irate, probably not. “You’re not serious. Robots _can’t_ control people! Even with mechanical implants, a human brain  is too complex to be remotely—”

“Then she tried to claw my eyes out, Nick!” Reichold vibrated. He started to pace, stomping across the office and purposely knocking  the psych books off one of Walker’s shelves. They tumbled through the air, pages flapping uselessly before they struck the ground like wounded birds. “It took ten people and four robots to drag her off me! I was covered in blood! She was _chewing_ on me! _She_ _ate flesh off my wrist!”_

“The nursing staff was under so much pressure— perhaps there was a break in her psychosis?”

Reichold let out a banshee scream mixed with maniacal laughter. It was so loud, Walker staggered and fell back into his seat. He gripped the armrests of his chair to ground himself. By far, this was the worst morning he had been made to endure this month. First the incident with Delta, then his multiple confrontations at the emergency Blanc Base meeting, now _this_...

“You’re not _listening_ to me, Nick.” Reichold glared, eyes pulsing with venom. “One second she was fine, the next she was batshit fucking _insane!_ She only snapped after Sazabi started ranting some kind of nonsense, and then the souldrive activated and she was—”

“We need to get you painkillers and straight to a hospital. A _proper_ one.” Walker edged around his desk, carefully trying to make his way toward the younger man. He made his motions deliberate, afraid that moving too suddenly would frighten him off. Alexander was hotheaded, but he did care for him. He was his protegee, after all! “You could have been hurt very badly—”

“I already sutured the injury. I don’t need a second opinion.” Reichold snapped his arm back and turned sideways, as if to deflect any further advance. It was highly protective - borderline paranoid. “I don’t need your help! I don’t need _anyone’s_ help!”

“Alex—”

As quick as he had appeared, Alexander Reichold was gone. He retreated through the open door and vanished into the darkness. The lights that normally came on during proper operating hours switched to life throughout Robo House... but the hallway was barren. Alex was long gone. Had the other man even been there at all? Oh wait, yes, he had. His path of destruction - the fallen books, the smashed clock - still lay stern across the room. When the door finally hissed back shut, Walker was left alone with his own troubled thoughts.

**iii  
**

While the Final Phase patients for Robo House were called Alpha, Beta, and Delta respectively, he had a personal name for his research, too. It gave his work a personal flair that couldn’t be achieved with code names alone. It was something that could be encrypted in his personal database away from prying eyes, kept protected until he had the resources necessary to make his full findings without the bias of other Robo House researchers. He had several working book titles for when he had the resources to publicate: _Wrangling With War Machines, The Brains of Battlebots, Murderous Minds of Metal Soldiers..._

But for now, his Axian-psychology research was simply called the Devil Project.

Robo House upholded a high standard of security from its first day of operation. The facility’s true purpose remained guarded during the First Phase, but when the Dark Axis invaded? The entire compound was on lockdown for weeks, both in the digital _and_ physical sense. Non-sapient program AIs that safeguarded the SDG’s entire network were made to work overtime on Robo House servers. They cast wide data nets to protect information at simulated checkpoints, and those nets prevented digital files from leaving the network without executive permission from Chief Haro himself. GM guards stationed at the building exit points were trained to scan for loose thumbdrives and SD cards, too. Extracting information from Robo House was next to impossible, as was trying to simply look _in_. The network impervious to hacks by using multiple triggers, meaning the media (and potential Axian insurgents) would have no way of getting to sensitive data from the outside without alerting the entire Gundam Force. Tracing the source of the hack as part of their potent security parameters, but there had been no need to use it. No Axian rescuers came after their three imprisoned allies. The media behaved itself. Robo House may have made an excellent prison in another lifetime... but for now, in its prime, it was the greatest robot psychiatric hospital this side of the Neos starsystem.

Despite the uttermost care put into security, there were still ways for data to stay hidden until a time where it could be moved. Directors in the facility had access to private caches on their personal computers. It was as a means to sort through their own findings in privacy, but a loophole in the system meant that data could stay there - hidden - for an indefinite time.

The Devil Project was a single file hidden inside a scanned image of Dr. Nicholas Walker’s doctorate. No one would think to look in such a clever spot.

Contrary to popular belief, the Devil Project wasn’t supposed to be a cruel title. It was appropriately named, he thought! While Nicholas Walker was never a religious man, the concept of the Devil was an intriguing subject that came up often in his line of work. The struggle between Good and Evil was always at the forefront of a mind in turmoil - regardless if his patients were man or machine. One of his very jobs _as_ a psychologist was to find the divide between the two, but what about the mind where Good and Evil were skewed? That was where the Axians came in. In their exotic glory, they followed a set of rules that made them _Good_ in the sights of whatever dark master they followed. Although their actions against Neotopia were still explicitly evil, they behaved with indifference because they were _created_ to do bad things. They were like demons. Frightening, vicious, _misunderstood_ demons _._ Like any robot - any _machine_ \- they could be made to change. Like any person with a mind, they could be be molded into a thing of productivity rather than destruction.

The unnamed Doga Commando, Lord Zapper Zaku, and Commander Sazabi would all be his Devils returned to the kingdom of Heaven. Yes, the Devil Project sounded positively poetic! And all the great findings that would come out of it would be thanks to _him!_

On June sixth, N.C. 0286, Dr. Walker sat himself next to the one-way window and cleared his throat. He smiled through the reinforced material, aglow at his own train of thought. “Good morning! How are you feeling today, Commander Sazabi?”

A hideous shriek and explosive _crash_ as the patient room sofa collided with the window was his only answer.

He ticked off _Other_ on his daily interview spreadsheet.

“He looks angrier than usual,” his aide said. The other psychologist (Walker couldn’t remember their name for the life of him) was a civilian hiree from another mech-psych firm in Neotopia. In the weeks after the Dark Axis invasion, he SDG had been cutting corners in order to appeal to the public. Rapidly hiring as many civilians as possible was Chief Haro’s version of a handshake: Hi, nice to meet you, we’re a secret government organization that has been hanging over your heads for two hundred years, sorry for sneaking behind your back and please be our friend! The aide looked  healthy at the start of the shift, but now they seemed pale and sickly. “I don’t think he’s happy to see us.”

“Don’t be silly, he can’t see us at all!”

At this, Sazabi plucked up the potted daisy left in his room and hurled it at the window. The forcefulness of the throw made Walker think that the plant had somehow personally offended him. The ceramic pot _disintegrated_ on contact with the window. Dirt clung to the surface as the murdered plant fell to the floor, its petals shredded and the stem cleaved in two from a jagged pot piece. The trajectory of the pot had been straight for Walker’s head. Sazabi really _shouldn’t_ have been able to see him. Maybe he had more adept sensors than they caught on their initial scan? Yes, that had to be it! Walker yearned to run more physical tests on his processor. Human psychology could not be examined directly by looking at a human brain, not unless there was an ailment that atrophied the brain and caused visible damage... but robots could be observed and have portions of their mind _measured._ It was astounding!

“Dr. Walker,” the aide said. Their voice was a horrified squeak that barely trespassed above a whisper. “He’s _glaring_ at us.”

Nicholas Walker came back to reality. Ah, he couldn’t stay in the clouds for too long. Not when the Commander was standing in front of the window with less than centimeters to spare, optic flared with unfiltered hate. If hellfire had a color, it would have been pink.

“Release me,” Sazabi said. That fantastic eye pulsated. Was it an attempt to hypnotize, to inflict mind control and get the humans opposite of him to do his bidding? Was _that_ how the Commander controlled his fellow Axians? Extraordinary!

“Mr. Sazabi, please understand.” Walker jotted down notes. This certainly had the air of progress! The Commander wasn’t shouting at him at full volume for once. Whatever the environment-team was doing to manipulate his living space, they were going to have to recreate it more often. Low intensity responses were what they were striving for! “We cannot. Not until you get better and can be safely integrated into Neotopia’s peaceful society. You _want_ to be peaceful, don’t you? Why, you seem remarkably peaceful right now!”

The Commander’s rare show of quiet defiance was short lived. How long had it lasted? Five seconds? The huge Axian immediately began shrieking again, plucking up another part of the smashed sofa and hurling it point-blank at the wall. It bounced uselessly and struck him in the face with a _bonk_. This, unfortunately, succeeded in nothing but making him madder.

The aide squealed and recoiled. “Why would you even _give him_ that!?”

“You’re right, it was far too small! We should have gotten the large...”

The aide stared at him.

“Nevermind.” Walker stood up, putting his clipboard down. “The patient is too incensed to proceed with the interview at present.”

“The interview _was less than thirty seconds.”_

“A remarkably long time for this patient, yes! We’ll resume once sedative-measures have been reestablished... Follow me, please. I want to show you something!”

The nervous looking aide trailed Dr. Walker out of the interview room and down a long stretch of white corridor. Then they transferred to a golf cart and drove the rest of the way to the first checkpoint. The section of Robo House that had been open in the First Phase to private civilian cases was smaller than the area they were in now. The newly hired aide had asked him about it, now that they had seen both.

“Robo House was constructed in preparation for an invasion,” Walker explained cheerfully. “It was built in two phases, the First Phase and the Final Phase. The First Phase opened its doors to private AI patients from Neotopia, where we gathered extensive data on soft-resetting and AI therapy. The Final Phase discharged those domestic patients and brought in the aliens… although we expected to receive _far_ more Axians than obtained by the SDG. This facility was constructed to hold _dozens_ of live Dark Axis patients. Another two hundred could be stored in suspended activation below us!”

The aide shuffled. “The SDG was preparing for the invasion before Robo House was even built?”

“Oh, but of course! We had intel of the Dark Axis’ existence more than two years ago, but alerting the masses would have been a mistake. Our society has thrived on peace for so long… Neotopia’s best interests have always been in mind with the SDG, and the mere _notion_ of introducing the public knowledge of the Axians would have been a mistake.”

“I guess that makes sense… where are we going?”

“To check the other patients!”

The wing where Patient Alpha, Commander Sazabi, was being kept was a high-end “lockdown zone” with multiple checkpoints and guards. Patient Beta was housed in a low-security cell by comparison, although significant soundproofing measures had to be installed. It wasn’t that he was louder than the Commander, not at all… but this one had somehow learned how to _swear,_ and Lord Zapper Zaku’s vocabulary was _very_ colorful. He had quieted down in the past few days, though. The stocky maroon robot was glaring at the flower in his cell but made no attempts to destroy it.

“Patient Beta has a distinct issue with rage and bipolar depression. Mayor Margaret and her assistants have been spearheading his project in an attempt to use artistic expression as a means of a soft-reset. Dr. Viola Perez - we’ll meet her later - she’s been monitoring his processor remotely to see if it’s been working. So far the progress has been wonderful!” Dr.  Walker touched the intercom switch. “How are you today, Zapper Zaku?”

The mech didn’t look at the one-way glass, but he _did_ flip them an off-color gesture that made the aide blush. Someone was going to be reprimanded for teaching him that.

Patient Delta was in a containment with security that was an in-between of his fellow Axians. Not intense, but not necessarily lightweight. Two guards with electric batons stood posted outside his cell. The Axian himself stood facing a corner, staring straight into the wall with his back to the window before pacing to the next corner over. The huge Doga was a variant of the smaller ones they had seen dropping the control horns, clearly a command unit. If the size wasn’t giveaway enough, the green and yellow paint scheme spoke volumes. He was Walker’s favorite.

“This one is nameless, but Patient Delta is my personal project. He’s so quiet and subdued already... I specifically left Dr. Perez out of his case so I could spend the most time with him. He suffers from severe anxiety and antisocial behavior.” Dr. Walker hit the intercom switch. “Delta? Good morning! How are you feeling today?”

Patient Delta said nothing. He paced back to the next corner and stood there, hiding his face from view.

“He’s made _massive_ progress,” Dr. Walker tried to assure his aide with a wide smile. “He doesn’t try to destroy the flowers anymore. Pending further sessions, we may be able to place him into a alternate housing! Chief Haro already has a candidate in mind.”

As they left Delta’s housing area to return to Commander Sazabi, the aide ground to a halt. They were shaking. “This seems wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“The aliens, the secrecy, this whole… _place_.” The aide looked sickly. “The reprogramming—”

“Oh no, no! I see your concerns.” They got back in the golf cart. Walker went to put his hand on the aide’s shoulder as they drove back. “We do not engage in wiping mechs here. That would be illegal and highly unethical! Our soft-resets just force affected processors to adapt to a safer way of thinking. It’s all quite safe.”

“Their processors are going through so much stress that they break down. You’re driving them insane and calling it _progress.”_

“I beg your pardon?”

The aide seemed offended that they weren’t being understood. Their voice dropped, low and foreboding. “They reprogram themselves as a means to self-preserve, not because they understand the therapy. It’s no more a _soft-_ reset as it is being repeatedly clubbed over the head with a baseball bat. It’s not wiping... but it’s still overwriting their previous selves, which is inherently the definition that made wiping illegal to begin with. You think you have all the answers, but you’re just spreading a cancer. That’s what this place really is, _cancer.”_

Ridiculous! Offensive, even! But Walker couldn’t think of a reply, so he chose not to answer at all. Perhaps the aide would forget about their nonsense rant once they saw more progress being made. Feeding that breed of a temper tantrum would never lead to anything productive. The rest of the ride was quiet and Walker thought that was the end of it... but then the aide quickly pulled the keycard out of the ignition and leapt from the cart. They hadn’t even gotten past Zapper Zaku’s area.

“I need to use a restroom.” The aide made a break for the nearest door, shoving past a staff member as they tried to enter. They both fumbled at the door, the aide trying to leave while the poor worker struggled to get out of their way fast enough.

“Of course! Would you like me to walk you to—?”

“No.” The aide left. The door hissed shut behind them, and that was the last time that Walker ever saw that particular aide. He later learned from the civilian-employee department that had placed them had received a withdrawal notice. Walker felt bad, but not guilty. He would find the perfect assistant soon enough.

**iv**

That was what led him to met Dr. Alexander Reichold, and they truly _were_ birds of a feather.

Dr. Walker arrived at his office at approximately six o’clock in the morning _every_ morning, even after the last Axian left Robo House. Regardless of having no on-site patients, the research obtained post-invasion was still plentiful. Steps to analyze their findings still needed organization, and for that, Walker had a rigid schedule. He went to bed at seven. He woke up at three. He showered and ate breakfast by four. He was _always_ on-site at Robo House’s private gate by five: any later and his entire day would be ruined. Yes, the once-packed parking site for commuting staff _was_ bare nowadays... but he refused to let the severity of the employment cuts damage his morale! Too much of what they - _he_ \- had worked for was at stake! He would take his walk around the grounds to ensure everything was in order, then make a cup of coffee and be in his office by six. That gave him an hour to compile data for his Devil Project file before the facility opened at seven.

Reichold being in his office on the morning of October second was a shock, to say the least! Walker didn’t expect to see him so soon after his fit the day before, never mind before the sun was even up. It was amazing how he could get around Robo House without Director-level permissions... how was he doing it? At least he had the common sense to rewrap his newest injury. Patches of blood were no longer hinting beneath the gauze surface.

The other man must have red his mind. “Perez’s keycard was left in her hospital room at Blanc Base. I took it when her wife wasn’t looking.”

“Alex? How are you feeling?” Walker asked, then immediately regretted it.

“You and I are in deep _shit.”_ Reichold was sneering. Like their relationship, his personality had worn-out in the past few months, too. “We are in deep shit unless we _fix this.”_

When they first met, Alexander Reichold had been a clean shaven robot-surgeon. That first day when he showed up at his Robo House office looking for work, Walker recognized him right away. He had been on the news! Six months earlier, a GM police officer ended up pinned between a rogue car and storefront while trying to direct traffic. The human driver hadn’t been paying attention. Reichold was heralded with saving the mech’s life after a seven hour stint in the ER. He was the picture perfect image of success, a good-looking fellow alumni of Regild - a   _valedictorian_ of Regild, actually! His follow-up doctorate stint didn’t go as well, as Reichold was unable to graduate with a human-health degree like he wanted... but he still did excellent for a robot surgeon! And it made him a hero that one time!

Walker longed for the day where _he_ could be the hero.

(Soon!)

Reichold was always going out of his way to help Walker run Robo House, sometimes above and beyond what he had available for free time. His enthusiasm was always appreciated, especially when considering he had no psychology background. After the latest aide left, Reichold seemed to stoll in from out of nowhere. He was a secret member of the SDG’s staff as part of a mecha-medical task force, but that was where his expertise ended. He was only a surgeon after all, but in spite of that, he took the entire compound by storm. He was charming, witty, quick to help with the Axians whenever it was necessary... but like any good career-relationship forged in work, the relationship suffered wear-and-tear. Reichold looked haggard. There were dark circles forming under his eyes. He looked _sick_.

“Fix what exactly?” Walker made sure to close the door behind him. He could already tell that this conversation was meant to be of the private variety, and it made him swell with loathing. He especially didn’t like the fact that Reichold was seated at _his_ desk, in _his_ seat, twirling one of _his_ pens. The psychologist grudgingly settled for sitting down in the guest chair, but it felt _wrong_. He had worked hard for his desk. Sitting in such a subpar seat made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Reichold - how rude - was messing up his organized desk!

“This shit with the _Axians_ , Nicholas!” Reichold was starting to shake. Walker realized he was still as angry as morning before, but now he was making steps to control it. That... disturbed him, somehow. It made him think that Reichold was being deceptive, and he was worryingly efficient at it. “First Sazabi can’t be reprogrammed, then Zapper Zaku comes halfway undone between a hyperactive janitor pacifist and trigger-happy nutcase, and then your Doga Commando pet reveals they were _faking._ Robo House is sinking faster than a lead weight. We’re going to lose _everything.”_

 _We._ It was a very distinct line of phrasing that did not go unnoticed. Walker cleared his throat, trying not to dwell too much on his failed Devils. “You have nothing to worry about, Alex. Your standing as a surgeon will remain unaffected. It is _my_ career that is on the line, not yours.”

“Standing?” Reichold laughed bitterly, holding up his hand. “I had permanent nerve damage _before_ that bitch nurse tried to bite my hand off, no thanks to the Commander on both counts. I’ll never get to operate again unless I get some kind of mechanical implant, and I _refuse_. I’ve lost too much to goddamn robots and AI already. I won’t be embedded with anything made from the same cut as the machines that already robbed my _first_ career from me. I was going to be a brain surgeon. A _human_ brain surgeon. Then I was knocked down to the level of falsely exalted _garage-fodder_. A _robot_ surgeon? They’ll give a PhD to _anyone._ I worked too hard to be mixed with that kind of idiocy!”

“Then why are you _here_ , Alex?” Walker had heard this triade many times before, but this was the most passionate he had heard it - and the first time he had the gall to ask for an explanation. “Psychology was never your forte. You study the machine, I study the ghost. Why put so much time into Robo House if you hate advanced AI so much?”

“Jesus fuck, not this Ghost-Machine nonsense again.” Reichold’s face was an ugly snarl. “It’s bogus! Robots are not people no matter _what_ these Steel Rose romantics want you to believe! You and I know the counter-theory is the only one with any weight to it.”

The Imaginary Friend clause. The memory of Kaiser’s college course came flooding back all at once. Even after dropping her class, working with AIs in a psychology setting _still_ brought it up. The clause was created in response to the Ghost-Machine theory, based on the writings of the late Jesus Antoine. One of Neotopia’s founders, Dr. Antoine was a behavioral therapist who helped the first wave of awakened settlers deal with life on a new planet. He believed robot AI were non-sapient despite their convincing behavior and carried that belief to his deathbed. He called the robots “imaginary friends” and wrote an entire thesis about how mankind felt the need to replace the sheer loss of life from the Old World. By creating “false” life with the ability to mimic human behavior, humans could get over their depression from losing Earth.

Many people agreed with him. In N.C. 0174, almost one hundred years after Antoine’s death, A GM named Alex and their human partner attempted to apply for a marriage license. They were turned away on the basis that humans could not marry _objects._ This righteously pissed off a lot _more_ people.

The resulting lawsuit against Mayor Garrison became the proving grounds for the proposed Imaginary Friend clause and the long-standing Ghost-Machine theory. Walker wasn’t alive for the fireworks, but it was a political nightmare that lasted more than a year in and out of courtrooms. It was the first time in Neotopia history where protests extended past more than fifty people at a time, the largest peaking at over a thousand. The Steel Roses came to exist that year, organizing kiss-ins and marches disguised as parades to keep the Peace Core at bay. It wasn’t that the protests were violent, but they had never happened on Neotopia at this scale before - no one knew how to react! The defendants from Garrison’s government rode the Imaginary Friend clause in their defense. It indicated that robots merely presented an _illusion_ of sentience due to programming practices that had become too advanced - too _perfect_ at replicate realistic human behaviors. The plaintiffs presented the Ghost-Machine to counter it at every turn, arguing that Alex the GM was a “real” person and _deserved_ to marry their spouse. In the end, on the eve of N.C. 0175, six out of seven High Court judges ruled in Alex’s favor. They were married on New Years, and robots rights battles surged forward to claim other victories: the peak of which was _Caboose vs. Caulton_. He remembered Kaiser’s classroom again.

“If I can prove that these machines are nothing more than that, then I stand a chance of getting my career back. My _real_ career. I could switch this nonsense degree in robotic _medicine_ for a doctorate that reflects what I already know, that I was meant for something better.” Reichold’s words dragged Walker back to reality. The other man was flushed, gripping one of Walker’s pens so hard that he was afraid it would snap. “Robots don’t feel, they just react the way we made _them_ to act like they feel. They run off scripts and have limited capacity to learn, run out of harddrive space—”

Walker flinched. “Reichold. We have evidence against the Imaginary Friend clause, now. There are many studies fully debunking—”

“Biased Gathermoon-era nonsense! You know it as well as I do!”

Walker wondered if Reichold was like this from the beginning. Back when he first started working for him, when Robo House was still far from being the failure it had devolved into… Had something strong within the young surgeon broken? Or had something already broken snapped under increasing pressure? The events of _Fallen Eagle_ had changed Reichold most significantly. He was obsessive, out for vengeance of a personal tier—

“Stop looking at me like one of your _robot_ patients,” Reichold hissed. He stood up, bracing his hands on the desk and further messing up the neatly organized desktop. “I can see you judging. It’s bad enough that I’m named after one. My mother thought it was _romantic_. Absolutely disgusting.”

“You need a vacation, Alexander.”

“I need Commander Sazabi to roll over and _die_ so I can get that motherboard. If it _is_ a remote relay to control others, I can locate physical traits that can point me in the direction of proving the Imaginary Friend clause, that the way robots that show sentience is nothing more than a fluke of programming that gives the illusion of being your _ghost_.” Reichold moved around the desk, lumbering slowly. He was exhausted. Walker could see it plain as the painful way he held his mauled hand, and he _pitied_ him. “You need him dead too, Nick. You need to analyze what’s left of his brain so you can figure out how to properly reprogram those Axians in the meantime.”

“Meantime?”

“You know what I mean,” Reichold said. He was smiling now, but it wasn’t friendly. “We can’t have non-reprogrammed war criminals running around. There are _two_ Axians living colony-side now, not including the Commander. They have to be put into their place before another invasion happens, and it _will_ happen.”

Walker swallowed. “Wiping is illegal.”

“They’re _aliens,_ no one should even _give_ a shit!” Reichold shook. “I’m going to fix that. My findings will prove that robots are just machines that have tricked human brains into thinking they’re real people. No more of this mechanical-surgeon or ethics behind Wiping, bullshit. You can go back to having _human_ patients, too! Isn’t that what you want?”

“I want to do good by Neotopia,” Walker said.

Reichold stormed out, leaving Walker to stew in the fading storm. He sat down at his desk and rearranged his pens and paper to the way he left them the night before.

**v**

Even though the project was never intended to be _his_ , Robo House turned into Nicholas Walker’s pride and joy. 

When he was a psych intern at the Laplace Von Braun Research Institute, he spent several years compiling patient evaluations for the colony’s annual psychoanalysis committee. Although Neotopia was a paradise, there was always the lingering concern of a collective mental break. A species floating so far away on an alien planet... certainly it was at risk for psychological damage, right? Even though they had all _seemingly_ adapted well to the New World, preventative research on the issue had never been done in the long-term. _Was_ the city at risk for damage knowing they had somehow killed Earth, even if they couldn’t remember because of the amnesiacs? Walker’s findings never unveiled anything of particular interest, the colony’s mental health was in excellent condition... but as interesting as the work was, he wanted more.

It was no mistake that Walker remembered the Ghost-Machine theory from that one day in class. As robots gained federalized rights alongside their human creators, Walker made the call to launch himself into robo-psychology. He went back to Regild for his second four-year run and earned his doctorate on the subject, and it was a call _very_ well made. He was one of the first to exist in his field, a pioneer, and he was an extremely successful. His first clinic had been private office straight out of his home. Then he had his own office in the city, complete with interns and on-call home therapy sessions.

Then the Super Dimensional Guard contacted him.

The project fell into his lap as part of a secret government assignment. His first contact had been through Mayor Margaret Gathermoon herself, the thirteenth of her family to hold office in Neotopia. It was an honor: the Gathermoons had become a very famous political family! She must have liked him, because their meeting was followed up by several correspondents with agents aligned with the SDG. Something was coming – something _big -_ and they _wanted his help._ More wouldn’t be revealed to him unless he agreed to dissolve his private practice. In exchange, he would work at a facility where he would have semi-executive function.. it was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

Back then, Lab H had simply been called _Sanctuary._

“It’s a play on an Old World media reference,” Kao Lyn scowled. Walker almost didn’t recognize him at first. He had traded in his black leather Steel Roses jacket for a traditional yellow Chinese suit. He hadn’t aged well, Walker thought. His height and broad shoulders were gone - now he was small and a little on the chubby side.

As the facility was still under construction, he and the other selected department heads had been invited to tour the grounds. Chief Kao Shi Lyn, who had been asked to head the project, made faces the entire time he was there.

“An Old World reference?” Walker asked. He hoped he could befriend the older man, but the longer the tour went on, the less likely it seemed. Kao Lyn reminded him of Professor Kaiser.

“It’s based on a comic series where social rejects were whisked away to a world called Sanctuary _._ They were promised a better life in exchange for servitude to a greater cause. In reality, Sanctuary was a self-contained trap.”

“This hardly seems like the same thing,” Dr. Viola Perez said. The cyber-neurologist frowned. She was a strong looking woman with a sharp hip-hugging dress and heels that screamed _respect_. A no-nonsense “You don’t strike me as the comic-book type. And why would you codename this lab something so awful?”

“Because I was asked to name a project I have no interest in whatsoever. Before I was an engineer in the SDG robotics department, I was a political activist.” Kao Lyn, still strangely combative, looked accusingly at the woman. “The earliest Old World comics and even the cartoons derived from them were used as propaganda in war times. Captain America was comic book series with a protagonist of the same name. His comic used to encourage resistance against a real-world fascist regime. They were responsible for murdering more than a million humans of Jewish descent during the second of the three World Wars.”

Behind them, Dr. Omar Bellwood chuckled. The boy, extremely young for his doctorate, seemed strangely placid around Kao Lyn in this particular state-of-mind. Was he used to it? As the apprentice of a once notorious Steel Rose, he must have been. “Captain Gundam being called _Captain_ wasn’t a mistake.”

“Captain Gundam?” Walker asked. He was ignored.

“In times where war _wasn’t_ ongoing on Earth, the nature of political participation in comics was much more based in the area of social commentary than propaganda.” As the group came to a stop in front of a still incomplete therapy room, Kao Lyn seemed to become even more irate. “The comic _Trashland_ was a social commentary on members of society deemed undesirable, and Sanctuary was their home away from home. It ended up being anything _but_. This place will be exactly the same. Forcing captured enemies to come here for programming therapy is exactly the kind of injustice we should be preventing.”

“Getting attacked by alien robots is an injustice I would also like to avoid,” Dr. Perez said. “If we can capture them and reprogram them, that hardly seems unethical. Social commentary and political correctness has no standing when it comes to an enemy. If anything it benefits _them_.”

“Forced wipes of old AIs was also considered ethical, once.” Kao Lyn looked at her critically. “Neotopia would erase the AIs of fully functioning mobile citizens in order to maximize robot productivity. Old AIs move slower than new ones, regardless of the experience of the developed robot personality. Is it politically correct for me to point out that your wife would have been subject to a Wipe three or four times in the time you’ve been married to her?”

At this, Dr. Perez paled. She stopped in her tracks and _stared_ at Kao Lyn. The usually severe woman looked horrified.

“Kao Lyn, please, _would_ you reconsider your stance?” Mayor Margaret looked exceptionally uncomfortable. The woman was leading their tour, looking lonely without her aides flanking her. “I know how adamant you were against even beginning construction. You were the only dissenting vote for the executive meeting moving the project forward. But I implore you, this place could not survive without your guidance. As executive director, you would be able to—”

“Mayor, you are an exceptionally _positive_ influence on this city, and I hate to see you even mixed in this,” Kao Lyn said. He paused, looking into the small room they had stopped next to. “What is this space going to be for?”

Mayor Margaret flushed in obvious embarrassment. “Well, Kao Lyn, it was my… personal proposal. It’s going to be a screened-in surround-sound therapy chamber for projecting images of Neotopia. We’ll prerecord three-sixty images of landscapes and the arts district of downtown. It will give them the impression of being in our happy community without actually—”

“I think it’s a novel idea,” Walker said, unable to help himself from interrupting. “It’s a way to expose potentially dangerous AI to a peaceful environment without putting the community in danger.”

“Thank you. I don’t know much about these potential invaders, but if we can help inspire them to be peaceful, I want to do just that. Neotopia was a fresh start for the human race so many years ago, I want it to serve as a fresh start for _everyone.”_

“Implying that they even _want_ a fresh start.” Dr. Perez leaned into the room, running her hand across the wall.

They continued down another corridor, then took an elevator down into the subterranean levels. The laboratory was like a fortress! It led to a large warehouse styled room, two stories high and lined with dozens upon dozens of stacked containment units.

“For storing robots in suspended activation,” Kao Lyn seethed.

“This facility will be the first of its kind. There is simply not enough time and manpower to take care of more than twenty potential robot patients at a time.”

“Especially if they’re as violent as the Zero said.” That was a new character. Across the huge room, a man in a sharp pressed uniform walked towards them. He was flanked on either side by SDG staff members, one GM and one human woman.

“Zero?” Walker asked.

“The name of the robot that warned us about the Dark Axis six months ago,” Chief Haro said, after introducing himself as such. The man was tall and thin, but there was a distinct air about him that urged respect. Walker could see the way the muscle in his arms bulked with his hands behind his back, drawing the fabric slightly taught. The leader of the SDG wore a mask to conceal his identity - how mysterious! This was all so exciting...

“The Dark Axis,” Dr. Perez said. “Is that really what they’re called? Who is _Zero?”_

“A robot from another dimension.”

She stared at him.

“Unfortunately, he’s telling the truth,” Mayor Margaret said. “Chief Haro and Chief Kao Lyn interviewed him after he arrived in Neotopia through a dimensional rift. The poor Gundam, was exhausted, he had come such a long way…”

“A Gundam!” Walker vibrated. “Like Captain Gundam? I keep hearing about this mystery person, would someone explain?”

“Gundams are mechs from from Gundanium. It’s an alloy of titanium, carbon, and microcrystalline diamonds that can only be produced in specific zero gravity environments.” Bellwood said. “It has great tensile strength _and_ is light enough to slap onto a robot without losing too much mobility. Instructions on how to make it were brought over and hidden by the founders. It’s time consuming to produce, plus its kind of durability isn’t required for anything standard… other than reinforcing a massive junction cable for floating secret-government bases. And making combat-oriented robots. Weird how other dimensions also came up with that idea.”

“By chance, Neotopia is situated in a rare gravity environment that’s perfect for making Gundanium. The planet itself has rich titanium and diamond resources,” Chief Haro said. “Part of the reason Blanc Base is suspended by satellite is because we can send the supplies up the junction elevator and craft it in space. Most of it was used to reinforce the junction cable holding Blanc Base up, but we had enough of it leftover create one Gundam fifty years ago. Now that Zero has revealed himself, we’re making more. Captain Gundam will be the first of our second-generation lineup designed to fight the Dark Axis.”

“God, I can’t _wait_ for that wannabe drill sergeant lunatic to retire.” Bellwood looked a Walker, frowning tiredly. “You know what Gunbot said to me once? When he retires, he wants his AI to be put in a motorcycle. A _motorcycle_. Who the hell _says_ that?”

“Captain Gundam’s specs are roughly based on Zero,” Kao Lyn said. “I designed him shortly after his arrival. Gunbot was also designed for emergency combat situations, but the Dark Axis is beyond his expertise. He was already slated to retire next year...” Kao Lyn trailed off, distracted. His gaze shifted further ways behind where Chief Haro had come. That was when Walker finally noticed the large machine being pushed into the room on a rolling slab. It was covered with a large vinyl sheet, jet black and absorbing the light that fell on it. It stuck out like a scar the pristine white room. Kao Lyn immediately began moving towards it.

Chief Haro reached out and grabbed his arm. It didn’t look like he had gripped the other man particularly hard, but Kao Lyn was jarred to a stop.

“What is that.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m sorry, old friend,” Chief Haro said. “Even with the introduction of Captain Gundam and the other robots, the Dark Axis is a threat we are _gravely_ unprepared for. If Zero is to be believed... we are bringing in all available assets. This is the last surviving relic of its kind, I promise.”

Kao Lyn shuddered in rage. “Why _did_ it survive?”

“I’m sorry.”

Kao Lyn left and never returned. He brought Dr. Bellwood wth him. In the end, Dr. Perez and Dr. Walker were the only department heads who remained. Dr. Walker was given the highest executive position and took over the entire project, eventually dubbed Robo House for First Phase testing. It wasn’t until months later that Walker discovered what the device under the vinyl sheet had been - a vintage Wipe Module, new and never used. It was the only one of her kind left, somehow surviving the mass decommissioning that swept the city when AI wipes were fully criminalized.

**vi  
**

Nicholas Walker never had children. He was married to his work. Robo House was his baby, raised and nourished from birth under his loving care.

While it performed beyond expectations during its First Phase launch, the compound had fallen under the weather in recent months. It was amazing how something that had done so _well_ could suddenly fall from grace. The First Phase had brought in dozens of privately hired patients over the course of two years, mostly pre-wiping era GMs with severe stress and other behavioral issues. They were basic soft-reset cases, utilizing multiple kinds of therapies to encourage healthy CPU function for the affected AIs. Only one case had been violent: a construction-class GM foreman who suffered from explosive outbursts relating to stress. A double-duty round of therapies and a follow-up brain-mapping by Dr. Perez was enough to alter the mech’s AI parameters, eliminating the outbursts.

It wasn’t reprogramming as it related to wipes. It was reprogramming as it related to _rehabilitation_. The the Final Phase testing began. He remembered what that one aide said after he showed them his Axian patients... but how could something supposedly so evil be so _useful?_

Robo House was like an empty nest nowadays. After Commander Sazabi was moved to the Ray household, they had no more patients. Zapper Zaku had already been transferred to the Gundam Musai to begin its maiden voyage, Patient Delta was already placed on house arrest to testify Robo House’s success... but the failure to soft-reset the Commander had still been a hefty blow their reputation. Partial success was still not _real_ success. The lack of new patient influx had to do with an administrative decision on Chief Haro’s part, since they wanted to wait and see how Sazabi did with Keiko Ray. There was also the tension relating to how the other two released Axians would do. Outside the pristine white walls, Robo House staff could only hope for the best. Walker could only hope for the best.

Zapper Zaku immediately attacked the Gundam Force upon his timed reactivation. Patient Delta snapped and struck his warden, a _disabled woman,_ and had to be removed from her premises by an extraction team in full raid gear. By comparison, Sazabi had been the tame one.

Robo House’s credibility was flushed down the drain.

In the months following the failure of _all_ Robo House’s Final Phase patients, the facility had fallen into disarray. The massive storage room had power permanently cut to it. Many hallways and rooms were dark as power was redirected to other SDG controlled sites colony-side, including Site B (Noir Base, where all the unsaveable petrification victims were being stored) and Lab C. The latter _especially_ needed the extra power, now that they were trying to figure out how to get the Gundam Force out of the Minov. Walker was still on the SDG roster, so he still went to work in the morning…

But he knew he was running on borrowed time. Robo House was on the verge of shutting down altogether, and there was nothing he could do to save it. He continually petitioned Chief Haro to allow him new patients, to have the Gundam Force apprehend more Axians to try his therapies again, to give him just a little more _time..._

Alexander Reichold was not helping.

On October third, for the first time in two days, Reichold was not waiting to ambush him in his office. He was able to sit down and actually get some work done in relation to the Devil Project, which still had data ready to compile. It wasn’t much but at least it was _something_ he could do. Anything to ward off the dread of losing Robo House... he spent several hours rereading his patient files for Patient Delta, the Doga Commando. Zapper Zaku was too far away to try and salvage the progress made with his therapy, and Sazabi was still in a coma. The Doga had shown so much progress that Walker simply couldn’t believe that it was an impossible situation to recover.  It was mid-afternoon when Alexander Reichold showed up. At least he had the common decency to knock this time.

The surgeon was grinning from ear to ear. He said nothing as he entered the office, sat down opposite of Walker, and plopped a heavy looking piece of machinery on the table. At first Walker thought it was a paperweight, but the intricate gears and singed wiring made him reconsider.

Dr. Nicholas Walker removed his spectacles and placed them on the desk. “What is this?”

Reichold looked like the cat who ate the canary. But not before breaking all its wings and chewing on it while it was still alive. “The Commander’s t-cog.”

“And why do you _have it?”_ Walker stared at the device, feeling his insides _twist_. Reichold had a piece of stolen alien technology. “How did you _get it?”_

“They were transporting the Axian’s pillaged insides from Bellwood’s lab to Kao Lyn’s. I waited until the GM moving the tray was down a hallway with a blind spot in the cameras. Then I plucked it off the tray. Like stealing candy from a baby.” Reichold reached out, picking the device back up and turning it over in his hands. “This was the only interesting piece I could find worth taking, though. Those geeks seem to think it’s a transformation-unit like the one the Gundivers and Captain Gundam have. Let’s them twist their bodies into alt-forms without—”

“You need to put it back,” Walker said, feeling his voice knot. His heart was in his throat. “If they find out you have that—!”

“What? They can’t prove anything. For all they know, the GM was stupid enough to let it roll off the table and it’s stuck in a grate somewhere.”

“You brought it into Robo House! The very place we are trying to protect from being shut down! How did you get it past security!?”

“What security? Everyone was laid _off_ , old man. This place is a goddamn ghost town.” Reichold’s face twisted. He was getting emotional, but for once it wasn’t at a robot. It was at _him_. “The more we can steal from under their noses, the less likely they’ll be able to put the Commander back together. We could get our hands on him after they realize they can’t bring him back. We can save this place! You’re not looking at the big picture!”

“You are looking too far ahead, Alex. This isn’t—”

“This isn’t _what?”_ The other man’s expression sank, then rose back to the surface in an almost sinister light. The anger was a slow burn, coming to the surface one piece of fractured composure at a time. “Ethical? They’re _machines.”_

“They are integral to Neotopia society, and I will do by practicing my work with _honesty!”_

“Oh, so what? You’re gonna get your patients back and— oh wait, that’s right, they _faked_ being reprogrammed. Beta isn’t even in this _dimension_ anymore.”

“Delta is still here!” Walker wondered if he sounded desperate. “The other Doga captured by the SDG is also on the colony! I could use both of them—!”

“You’re an idiot,” Reichold said. Nothing but lies surely, but it stung all the same. He stood up, leaving the room without another word. He left the t-cog on the desk. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting shadows across the stolen piece of the Commander. Walker reached out to touch it, then snapped his hand back. He had never been in physical contact with the Commander while he was at Robo House. Sazabi had simply been too dangerous for in-person sessions. The mere notion of having a part of him so close was frightening. Walker rolled his chair back as far away from the desk as possible, but that horrible little fragment that helped make Commander Sazabi as terrifying as he was...

Nicholas Walker picked up one of his recently organized books off a shelf and chucked it at the t-cog. It struck the singed device and sent it rolling off the desk. It struck the ground with a sharp _pang_ but remained intact, rolling into the darkness where it continued to aid in the destruction of his Robo House.

He put his face in his hands and cried.

**vii  
**

Dr. Hodges leaned back in her seat. She looked indigent. “Oh my god. He’s colorblind.”

It was bad enough that Patient Beta, Zapper Zaku, cracked and went after the Gundam Force when he reactivated. He had shown such progress, it was too much to bear that all their hard work had been for nothing. It was awful that Sazabi’s reprogramming session had failed, but for Patient Beta…

“I don’t know what happened,” Dr. Perez had told him. She sounded distracted. “His brain-mapping seemed fine to me, unlike the Commander’s.”

The cyber-neurologist sounded distracted. He left it at that. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

When he initially got the call about Patient Delta _hitting_ his disabled warden, he was back at his office within minutes. He had finished up and was moments away from getting in his car to go home. Delta’s extraction took approximately twenty-seven minutes, and he was back in Robo House within ten. Dr. Viola Perez arrived not long after. Dr. Alexander Reichold arrived by gunperry seven minutes behind her. It was one in the morning when Delta’s sedative EMP wore off. Then they began running tests.

Dr. Catherine Hodges from the Blanc Base mech hospital was called down to assist. She showed up in the same gunperry as Reichold, much to the young surgeon’s aggravation. Dr. Walker tried to reassure her that she wasn’t needed.

“Chief Haro asked for unbiased medical staff to be present,” she insisted, clearly irritable. Something had her on edge, and the exact nature of her fury was evident soon enough. “The woman he hit is _livid_ that he was extracted by Robo House assigned staff so violently. I’m here to make sure permenant damage wasn’t done.”

“Damage!?” Walker was offended. “The woman he hit is defending him!? Outrageous! I’m surprised she’s not—”

“The security-bolt didn’t go off until _after_ the raid-dressed extraction team barged into the room. He didn’t hit her to be violent. Something set him off and _scared_ him. Miku is adamant he gets returned to her home as soon as possible.”

“The reprogramming—” Walker stopped himself. No, he couldn’t say that he was sure that the soft-reset had failed. Not yet. Delta was his personal project, he had shown so much promise! Something had come loose. The mere notion of thinking otherwise would ruin all those weeks of hard work. “Delta needs more therapy. He needs to stay _here.”_

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Hodges said.

The Doga Commando was being housed in the surround-view room. He was standing in the corner and rocking profusely, back and forth with such intense fever that it was like he never left Robo House at all. His obnoxious armor was scuffed and badly dented where GMs had manhandled him.

“He was cured when he left,” Dr. Walker said. “The anti-social behavior, the anxiety, his memory serving in the Dark Axis… he was _cured!”_

“So was Zapper Zaku,” Dr. Hodges said, and dear god, he had the faint tickling of wanting to _hit_ her.

The four of them sat in the adjacent room with the computer equipment Dr. Perez had already set up. The Doga Bomber had been installed with the same neuro-monitoring program as Zapper Zaku and Commander Sazabi while he was unconscious, allowing them to map the mech’s AI behavior. Walker hadn’t allowed Perez to install the program when they first started working with Delta because he wanted him to be _his_ main project. All things considered, Delta had done extraordinarily well without her trained eye monitoring his brain... but as the screen flooded with patterns and colors that he couldn’t make heads or tails of, Perez frowned and informed him of her findings: that his state-of-mind was almost identical to the Commander’s base-behavioral perspective. He had never been soft-reset at all.

Walker’s heart sank.

For the next three hours, they ran Delta through a gauntlet of tests, an attempt to properly map the Axian’s AI and how it interacted with the world around him. They broadcast images of downtown Neotopia, forests, educational videos, children’s shows… but it was the basic color recognition test that made Perez stop in her tracks. She ran the program multiple times, alternating between patterns for almost five straight minutes before Walker demanded to know what she was doing.

“His processor function has slowed down,” she said. “He’s not registering the difference between colors.”

Dr. Hodges leaned back in her seat. She looked indigent. “Oh my god. He’s colorblind.”

“What?” Nicholas stood up and pushed past her, trying to peer into the room through the one-way window. The huge Doga Bomber was still looking at the view-screen in silence, making no indication that he saw any difference in the shifting colors of the dots. Red, purple, blue, yellow... Nicholas couldn’t help but start shaking. The notion that there was some aspect of the mech he didn’t understand, after working with him for so _long…_ “You’re joking. This is a mistake!”

“She’s right.” Dr. Perez turned her computer screen around, frowning deeply. The screen that showed her custom monitoring program had a series of wavelengths moving horizontally across a plane. The lines shifted under the duress of a “vibration,” but the movement was difficult to discern without leaning in close. “He can see shapes and link them up with concepts fine, but he has zero color recognition.”

“He doesn’t see _any_ colors?” Walker paused, then accusingly pointed to the screen as the lines suddenly jumped. “There! That line just shifted! He recognized— he _can_ see color!”

“Sorry, I just shifted the contrast.” Hodges turned around and frowned. She was holding the control switch for the room’s view screens. Her fingers were still on one of the dials. “How extreme was—?”

Perez turned her computer around, entering in codes to rewind the playback. She took off her glasses. “Ten entire frequency clips.”

“I barely even adjusted the setting!” Dr. Hodges looked flabbergasted. “Less than a thousandth of the original base.”

“What does that mean?” Reichold stood up. The man had been rocking on the back legs of his chair for most of the session, leaning against the wall and looking bored.

“He can’t discern between colors like the rest of us, since his processor can’t match the concepts with his monochrome-sights... but he could pick out the difference between onyx and jet based on their contrast. He can recognize a massive spectrum without actually _needing_ to see the color.” Dr. Hodges paused when she realized everyone was staring at her. “Miku Anami was the woman who volunteered to take this Doga. She’s a maintenance-worker in the SDG, but she’s also a painter. I bought one of her pieces last year when she had an expo colony-side. I got the whole different-shades-of-black lecture.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Reichold said.

Walker felt like he was going to have an anxiety attack. The reprogramming method that _seemed_ to work on the Doga Commando had been a color-based data-injection session. But if the mech couldn’t see color, of course it failed! Patient Delta _had_ been faking. The proof was undeniable. Walker felt like he had punched in the head, shot in the heart, pushed from a great height...

“That explains the awful paintjob,” Perez said. “Of all the Doga Commandos, this one was the most hideous.”

“Let me talk to him!” Walker stood up. “He did so well with me, I can—”

“No. Chief Haro specifically wants a fresh face for future interactions. Let me go in.” Dr. Hodges frowned, standing up and shoving her chair back. Walker wanted to protest, but the world felt like it was closing in. He had failed with Patient Alpha. He had failed with Patient Beta. Now he was failing with Patient Delta.

It was a disaster.

“Darwin? How long have you been colorblind?”

Patient Delta tried to kill himself on the spot. He surged up from the interview table they had placed in the room and smashed his head repeatedly into the wall. Walker watched in horror as all his hard work tried to self-destruct, crumpling to the floor in a pool of its own mechanical blood.

**viii  
**

For as long as he could remember, he always wanted to be a psychologist.

It was a career path that ran in his family’s blood for generations, and his parents were his greatest role models. Monica Walker worked with patients who suffered from debilitating mental defects. Edward Walker was a researcher who worked testing new medications for clinical trials. They were never famous though, and that never _quite_ sat right with Nicholas. For all the good they did for Neotopia, their names were never a household brand. No one talked about them on the news for saving a suicidal patient’s life. No one wrote about them for finding the new super drug that eliminated bipolar disorder mood swings. They acted as if they were fine with it, now that they were retired... but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to make them _proud._ He wanted to make a difference in the world and receive _credit_ for it.

He was going to continue their legacy. His work with Robo House was going to make him a hero! He would change the very foundation of what made Axians the vicious killers they were, turning them from Devils to Angels. They would teach about what he did to help save Neotopia for decades to come.

Maybe even forever.

(Definitely forever.)

On the morning of October fourth, Robo House was completely dark. The front gate wasn’t even working. The doors still had power, but the interior lights refused to come on. He couldn’t even make coffee. Walker had to swallow his pride when he made the call to Blanc Base, begging them to reroute _some_ electric assets to his compound. The girl he spoke to was very nice, but when the power still didn’t come on...

“Please,” he continued. He was on the verge of begging. “Robo House can still do good for the SDG!”

“Hold on, Dr. Walker... okay. Okay, I _think_ I found the problem. My computer is telling me that there was a power surge in your server room last night.”

“Impossible! No one was here!”

“Yeah, super weird... must be a fluke. Anyways, it looks like we have a maintenance guy on-site. He’s your new janitor, but he has plenty experience throwing heavy switches. I’ll send him a dispatch. Meet him in the electric room.”

Walker had to use the flashlight on his phone to navigate the dark hallways. Curse his decision to come to work so early! Robo House was _eerie_ without its comforting white lights. Luckily he wasn’t along for long. He rounded the corner that opened into the electrical room and spotted another torch bobbing in the darkness. Pete Gallagher introduced himself promptly, but without enthusiasm.

“I didn’t even know we _had_ a janitor,” Walker said.

“You didn’t up until a couple of weeks ago,” Gallagher said. He fumbled with the switchboard, flipping several breakers. The lights in the room didn’t come on (it was probably one of the places where power was already being redirected), but Walker could hear the hum of Robo House as it came back to life. A light came back on in the hallway. Gallagher closed the hatch and gave it a fond pat. “I was the head of Blanc Base’s maintenance department until September.”

“Wait. You were a department director?”

“Yeah. Had a pretty sweet gig coordinating equipment repairs and generally telling people what to do. I was at the top of my game. Thought for sure I was gonna lose my job way sooner, though. One of my girls lost her legs during the Big Zam crisis and I wasn’t there for her or something... anyways, that pissed high command right the fuck off, but they kept me on, y’know? I was still good at my job in the meantime.”

“So what happened?” Walker was afraid of the answer. As they exited the room, he could see that even less lights had come in in the base than usual. Power was being drained from Robo House like blood, and it was bleeding out faster than Walker could save it.

Gallagher looked broken. He walked over to where he had parked his janitor’s cart. “Commander Sazabi happened. _Fallen Eagle._ I was included in the Black Directive bullshit mission that Kao Lyn setup. Sazabi was gonna be too big for the doors in the hangar once he was airlifted, so they wanted me and my crew to hack down part of the wall. I was pissed. Why would I do anything for a monster like that, right? People _died_ because of that alien, why should _I_ give a shit? I basically told the extraction team to go fuck themselves. They fired me on the spot for delaying the mission and the wall got knocked down anyways. Now I’m on _cleanup_ duty.”

Walker stared at him. He felt his body break out into a thin layer of sweat. He wanted to throw up. “I’m... sorry to hear that. Do you think that...?”

“I’m not getting my job back. Not anytime soon. Only reason I’m still _here_ is because I’m waiting for my next appeal to go through.”

“Will it?”

“Probably not.” Gallagher shrugged, his posture sad. It resonated nothing but suffering. “When it doesn’t, I’ll call it quits and get a job somewhere else. Guess we can’t all be famous, right? I’m just another nobody.”

Walker said nothing.

Gallagher left down the hallway, disappearing around the same corner Walker first came from. The psychologist could taste copper in his mouth. At first he thought he had chewed his cheek a little too hard, but then he _felt_ it. The seizing in his gut, the intense salivating, the vertigo... Walker fumbled in the dark, rushing down the hallway to the nearest garbage receptacle. He puked up his entire breakfast in three short heaves, then staggered back. He hit the wall and slumped down, sobbing in the dark.

He wasn’t going to be a Gallagher. He was going to be a _Walker_.

**ix**

His plan was set in motion. As soon as he got to his office, he fired off a round of emails to his remaining staff. He was going to be out of his office for the day - for the first time since he started working at Robo House. Then he called for a gunperry to return the stolen t-cog. There was no resistance sneaking it out of the compound without security present, and it was small enough to hide under his jacket the whole time. He was able to leave it in Bellwood’s office as if it had never gone missing. While at Blanc Base, he put in a request for a reevaluation of Robo House’s patient intake. It was a zero for now, but if he could convince certain someones to enroll their houseguests _willingly_...

He returned to Robo House only to get in his car and start driving.

Unfortunately, he made the mistake of trying to call Miku Anami first.

The phone rang four times before she picked up. Rather than the cheery answer he was so accustomed to, Ms. Anami hissed at him. “Do not _ever_ call this house again.”

She hung up. Walker tried again, too stunned to contemplate her threat.

“What do you _want?”_ She sounded breathless, almost as if she had been shouting. The exasperation in her voice dripped through the connection like hot lead, scalding Walker from the safety of his compact cabin. “Why can’t you leave him alone?!”

“I implore you, Ms. Anami. Please bring Patient Delta back to Robo House! Surely his tameness at present is a result of _some_ of my therapies. If only you would come in as a private patient and give me a chance—”

“Oh my god. Oh my _god_.” She was furious. “First you— are you _joking?_ Haven’t you done _enough?”_

What a baffling question! “Of course I haven’t done enough! The very future of Neotopia could be at stake! Please, let Delta come to me, force him if you must—!”

“I’m calling Chief Haro.”

“Please—!”

There was a slight commotion. Miku’s startled whispering, a hard muffled voice, the sound of a clacking receiver…

A familiar, vaguely accented voice came through the speaker. “My name is _Darwin_ , fleshbag.”

The connection cut, but not before an explosion of sound reverberated over the connection. The Axian had slammed the phone down so hard, Walker wondered if it was still in one piece.

**x**

His last hope came from a quiet cul-de-sac nestled in a grove of perfectly landscaped trees. The leaves had almost fully changed color, peaking hues of red and orange and yellow. While Neotopia was not known for its winters, its temperate-climate plants were still genetically engineered to shed to promote healthy leaf growth. Walker had to peer through the maze of vibrant colors to find the house number he wanted. When he finally spotted the home, he accidently passed it and had to circle back around. A bright orange truck was parked in the driveway. He parked behind it.

He rang the doorbell five times. The woman who answered looked shocked to see him. He was shocked to see her, too: he hadn’t realized that Renee Clarke had a disfigurement. She stammered in recovery, reaching up to readjust her eyepatch with an anxious hand. “Oops! Sorry, I thought you were girl scouts.”

Now it was Walker’s turn to feel out-of-place. “Girl scouts.”

“Well, just the one. She’s been a popular visitor this house. We buy _all_ her mint cookie stock each week.” Ms. Clarke chuckled. Walker had to hack into the SDG records to pull her address, and it was a good thing he was successful. He was _sure_ Miku would have been more helpful. It was only with a stroke of dumb luck that he spotted her updated placement order - of course she wasn’t going to keep her charge in an apartment in the city. Neotopia was still recovering from the Doga Bombers’ most recent attack. But now this woman was his last hope for salvation. “I’m actually just renting this place. You’re, uh… not one of my neighbors are you?”

“Are you worried I am?”

“Gosh, I don’t know how thin the walls are in this house. I, uh... I know it was probably loud in here the other day...” Renee rubbed the back of her head and started to turn red. “I’m so sorry, who did you say you were again?”

“My name is Dr. Nicholas Walker. I’m with the SDG.”

At this, Renee immediately sighed in relief. Her hand went over her heart. “Christ, you scared me. I thought you were gonna tell me and my boyfriend to knock it—”

She stopped. She stared at him. Walker stared back.

“Nevermind,” she coughed. “I— uh. Sorry. Sooo sorry. Just checking in or something, right?”

“That and something,” Walker said. He smiled to be polite, but he couldn’t help but feel uneasy. The house was quiet. Peaceful. Where was the Axian? “How are you adapting?”

“Adapting? Fine! I mean, there was definitely a, uh, _transition_ …” Renee paused, as if she wasn’t even sure where to start. “Tango’s doing well! He likes watching TV and cooking and recently started sleeping lying down. He _really_ likes beds. Oh, and eating! He _loves_ food. I already put in an application in for a higher spending allowance at grocery stores. My single-person credit only gets me so far. Kao Lyn is helping me in the meantime, though. He’s such a great guy, you know him?”

So _that_ was the mech’s name. Walker started at her. “He’s… peaceful? You haven’t had any _behavioral_ problems?”

“I mean, have you _met_ Kao Lyn? He can get a little energetic—”

“What? _No!_ I meant the Axian. _Your_ Axian.”

“Oh geez, never! I mean, his security bolt only went off once and it was a total accident.” Renee reached up and ran a hand through her hair. He could tell she was nervous, but she was trying to handle herself as best she could. “I left him alone with a knife when we were making dinner one night and he registered it as a weapon or something… but he didn’t mean to! He’s been nothing but a sweetheart.”

“He’s an Axian.” Walker couldn’t stop the words from coming out. He internally berated himself for being so stupid when Renee next looked at him.

“Well… yeah. He is.” She shifted back into the doorway. She was looking him up and down with her one eye now, much more guarded. “Don’t get me wrong. I was pretty worried when Chief Haro and Kao Lyn asked me if I wanted to take him in. But you have to understand, he’s been nothing but polite and _nice_. I bet a lot of Axians could be like that, but you know… they never had the chance? All those Dogas are dead. How many of them could have been like Tango?”

Very few, Walker wanted to say.

“I mean— I can show you. Would you like to stay for supper? Tango is pretty shy around other humans, and I was gonna pick up teaching him how to read after we ate, but you can see for yourself. Plus Tango can benefit being around other people! It’s barbeque-mustard chicken with bacon and cheese. And eggs. Lots of eggs. I hope you have a low cholesterol?”

He didn’t. Dr. Walker reached into his pocket, pulling out the private Robo House pamphlets that were handed out during the First Phase. “I appreciate the invitation, but I came here for another reason. I run a facility known as Robo House. I worked with Commander Sazabi and two other Axians after the first invasion, trying to prove that the Axians could be rehabilitated and introduced into society. Unfortunately… all three attempts failed.”

Renee stared at him. She turned her head and made a strange face. “I don’t understand… Tango is fine. He’s totally non-aggressive.”

“Ms. Clarke, I regret to be the first to inform you that the Axians are adept actors. One of the Axians I worked with was another Doga. He maintained a peaceful act for _months,_ then struck his disabled human warden. We found out that his programming was never soft-reset in the manner we thought.”

That should have convinced her.

Instead, Renee retreated further into the doorway.

“I _really_ don’t understand this.” Renee raised her hand, gesturing with her hand to what might have been imaginary bullet points. “Isn’t reprogramming illegal?”

“Hard wipes and reprograms, yes, but not soft-resets. Purely behavioral conditioning! A legitimate practice in private firms specializing in advanced AI psychology, and soon to be widely accepted!”

“But Tango _is_ behaved. Are you telling me that you found out where I lived, drove all the way out here, and seriously expected that I would just let you take him for your science project?” At this, Renee retreated even further into the doorway. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her growing stress palpable. “No offense, but that’s kindaaa fucked up. He’s not going with you.”

“Ms. Clarke, please!” He tried to shove the papers into her hands to get her to _see_. He could feel his heart rate escalating. It was one thing for him to fail with Ms. Anami, but he couldn’t fail with Ms. Clarke. failure _wasn’t an option_. “Your Axian could help save years of research from being flushed down the drain!”

Renee sputtered. “Sorry. He’s— we’re super not interested. Please leave.”

“You don’t understand!” As Renee tried to close the door, Walker shoved his foot in the doorway. The force she exerted on the door was a clear indication of how desperate she was to end the conversation, but he had to make her see! Would she bargain? Yes, she had to! “I’ll never be given the chance to petition for your Axian myself. I need you to _help_ me, Renee. If you’re afraid of repercussions from the SDG, I can assure you that we can work a cover story! I would make sure he was returned to you within a few weeks. Chief Haro and the others would never know! If you lend him, we can see where we went wrong with the others. We could get it right!”

“Get out of my house.” He wasn’t in the house and the house wasn’t hers, but the warning was clear. The woman started to shake. “Oh my _god_ , get _out of my house._ Please go away right _now!”_

A metallic voice rose up from inside the residence. _“Renee?”_

Newfound determination welled up within Walker. He braced himself, lowered his shoulder – and gave it a hard _shove_ into the door. Just to open it up a little further, just so he could see her face. Renee _yelled_ and staggered. She was falling! Walker reached out to catch her, seizing her by the forearm and accidentally digging his fingernails into her. Renee started to _scream_ , reaching up and grabbing his fingers to try and pry him off. Absurd! He was only trying to keep her from pitching backward! He held on to wait for her to realize this, but she only continued to struggle. “Ms. Clarke! Please—!”

He pulled on her.

There was the roar of an engine and a rush of yellow and off-brown past his vision. Dr. Walker never saw what hit him. One second he was looking at Renee - the next he was flat on his back, staring up at the sky and the underside canopy of the closest oak. His spectacles were bent beyond repair. One lens was cracked, sending a thunderbolt across his vision that followed his line of sight. The other lens was missing entirely. Adrenaline forced him to sit up, and god it was a chore. His neck and back were sore, but his arm took the brunt of the damage. It was definitely broken. The Axian that attacked him had its jaws open and its optic flared, finally releasing Renee from where it had seized her and thrown Walker more than ten feet from the front stoop. It lurched sideways out of the house to avoid clipping its wings, but the door was still snapped off its hinges and in dire need of replacement.

A woman was screaming from somewhere far away. “He was only trying to protect me!”

Dr. Walker had seen Sazabi hurl entire pieces of furniture, but his rage had been contained. He tried to sit up, but his bad arm made it nearly impossible. This was bad. This was _very bad_ and getting worse by the second. He kicked at the grass with his useless lab shoes that had no traction on the short grass, only able to back up a few inches. This was nothing like dealing with his Devils. This was nothing like being faced with the menacing presence of a measly stollen t-cog.

For the first time in his career, Walker feared for his life.

The Doga Bomber was almost on top of him. Shaking, the mech’s jaws unhinged like a hellbeast from a nightmare dimension – and then its limbs finally locked up. The security bolt took hold with a series of hard _clicks_ and the Axian roared in fury, frozen as a prisoner in its own body. The scream that ripped free from its vocalizer was like a wounded predator. It’s eye never left him, burning with _murder_.

Walker scrambled to his feet, made a mad rush for his car, and peeled off down the quiet little road as neighbors stuck their heads out to see what was going on. He never looked back.

**xi**

His interactions with Chief Kao Lyn had been increasing ever since he took over Robo House. It wasn’t all bad: Kao Lyn was a perfectly decent person, and in a way it was a _privilege_ to work with someone so famous. He singlehandedly took over and expanded the SDG’s original Gundam Project, which went from having only one to _ten_ robots under its belt. Ten! Granted seven of them were the Gundivers, but Kao Lyn created Captain Gundam, the very savior of Neotopia. To think that one mech could be packed with enough power to curb the ambitions of Commander Sazabi himself... Kao Lyn’s exploits as a Steel Rose were also legendary in their own right. Walker respected him with every fiber of his being, but their in-person meetings were increasingly volatile. The administrative meeting with Keiko Ray, Chief Haro, and all the other important players in preserving the Commander was one of them. Kao Lyn had acted so _furious_ with him... considering how unpredictable the other man could be, Walker began to dread their next encounter. He was a veteran member of the Steel Roses, an adamant robot rights protester, a violent _criminal_ …

He was also in remarkable shape for someone in his sixties. At the very least, Reichold would barge in like a normal person.

Walker had only just gotten back to his office when the door rattled with a horrible _thud._ One violent blow was all it took to cave the metal and break the entire slider apparatus in two. A _foot_ actually came through. Walker lost another five minutes off his life, screaming and throwing most of his desk’s contents to the floor. He had been trying to organize his notes, his arm sitting in the sling he fished from his first aid kit. The foot was yanked back before kicking out again, completely taking out part of the door. Kao Lyn used his bare hands to tear the wreckage down and homed in on Walker like a missile. He was shaking.

“When I heard that you called Ms. Anami, I was appalled.” The smaller man came into the room, kicking a broken slab of door out of his path. His voice rose to impossible decibels comparable to that of the Commander. “But I just got off the phone with Ms. _Clarke_.”

He felt like he was in a dream. Walker readjusted his broken arm, still in its makeshift sling. The break hadn’t been bad enough to warrant a cast, but it still hurt. “Did she change her mind?”

Kao Lyn stared at him. “Change her mind.”

“Yes?” The dream was turning into a nightmare.

Walker couldn’t see what happened next. One second Kao Lyn was in front of his desk, the next he was behind it and pulling Walker to his feet. The man was impossibly strong. Then again, for someone who spent his entire adolescence jumping fences and resisting arrest... Kao Lyn didn’t have the same build as his youth, but all that _strength_ was still hidden inside of him. He shoved Walker against a bookshelf with his beloved diplomas. The frames rocked and pitched forward off the shelf, striking the ground and sending glass sliding across the floor. Kao Lyn kept him pinned there with one hand while the other reached up to rip of his yin-yang glasses. His eyes were like nitrogen, flash freezing Walker’s insides. They were blue with flecks of silver - the color of ice and molten Gundanium. _“Have you completely lost your mind!?”_

“I’m just trying to do good by Neotopia! My research will help—”

“Renee was _sobbing_ when I talked to her, Nicholas! The entire neighborhood knows that Tango is there now! The SDG had to divert resources to damage control, and we’re already spread too thin! _How could you be so stupid!?”_ As if to make his point, Kao Lyn pulled back on his collar and then _smashed him_ into the bookshelf again. The rest of the shelves collapsed, spilling their contents all over the office floor like the insides of a slaughtered animal. Walker screamed.

“Because this is all I have!” Nicholas sobbed. His broken arm pulsated with agony. He wondered if he was going to piss himself, he was so terrified. His encounter with the Doga Bomber had been horrifying enough, but Kao Lyn was on his way to outdoing the Axian in leaps and bounds.

“And you’ve thrown it all away,” Kao Lyn finally dropped him.  Walker fell straight to his ass, unable to keep his legs from giving out on him as he slumped against the wall. His legs were still shaking. Kao Lyn’s body was shaking too, a mix of residual anger and his age catching up with him. A Shaolin Kung Fu master or not, no amount of taoist meditation could prepare him for the amount of exertion he just put himself through. His whole body was shaking under his yellow suit. He staggered, catching himself on the desk and breathing deep. His voice was shallow. “Chief Haro is processing my recommendation to permanently shut down Robo House.”

“NO!” Walker felt like his chest had been curb stomped. “You can’t! You _musn’t!”_

“We don’t have a choice.” Kao Lyn left, storming out of the office. He called one last time over his shoulder. “You don’t have a choice. You’re _fired.”_

Kao Lyn disappeared, fleeing the room as fast as he had appeared. The engineer vanished like a ghost, but his presence never left. The air was still heavy with conflict, suffocating like roaring wind rushing past Walker’s face. The quaint office sat in physical and metaphorical ruin. A pen balanced haphazardly on the edge of the desk finally pitched forward and fell, clattering on the floor and rolling away.

Walker buried his face in his hand.

**xii**

October fifth, Friday, was cool and gray. Walker saw the shutdown notices posted outside when he arrived for work. They had twelve hours to clear out the entire facility. The few Robo House staff that remained were redirected from their usual tasks, made to put all salvageable equipment into storage. Files from the First Phase were to be transferred and stored at Site B. Anything else, specifically data from the Final Phase, was to be destroyed.

Walker was able to save the entirety of his Devil Project on a secure thumbdrive. When a GM techie scanned it for any stolen materials, all she found was the single scanned image of his diploma. She let him walk out of the office with it. He didn’t dare look back.

Walker loaded the last of his office decorations into the back of his car. He had some difficulty with his sling, but eventually he was able to get everything out of the building and into the trunk.The compact sat low on its suspension from the weight of all his books. Part of him wondered if he was going to be able to ever use them again: he was going to lose his license for sure. He had received instructions to meet with Chief Haro at Blanc Base once Robo House was completely packed in. A formal firing was the best-case scenario, but at the worst? He would have his entire life’s work stripped from him. His degrees, his license, his _reputation_...

He rounded the outside of the building, strolling the grounds one last time before heading for the gunperry launchpads. There was only one gunperry waiting: the rest had already left. Alexander Reichold was waiting for him with his arms crossed. His expression was blank.

“So that’s it,” Reichold said, emotionless. “It’s dead. The whole thing.”

“I’m afraid so, friend.” Walker climbed into the ship with him. He didn’t want to linger for too long. The whole process would have to be like ripping off a band-aid. While Reichold still had a future ahead of him, Walker knew this was the swan song to his career. He was never going to be let into the practice again. No patient would want to consult with the sort of failure _he_ was. Reichold paused before following him inside, slapping the outside of the ship to let the pilot know they were ready. the engines started. “You and I will never see our dreams come to fruition, it seems. I am so sorry, Alex.”

Alexander Reichold said nothing. He sat next to Walker and strapped himself in.

The gunperry lifted off into the air. He and Alex were the only ones in the holding area, sat side-by-side. The pilot advised them over the ship’s intercom that they would be at Blanc Base in ten minutes.

“You have your personal files, right?” Reichold’s voice was subdued. “The Devil Project hidden in that picture, right?”

Walker snapped his head to look at Reichold. His heart leapt into his throat.

Reichold snorted. “Come off it. It might fool a robot, but it won’t fool Kao Lyn or Haro if they catch you with it. Give it here.”

Walker fumbled for the thumbdrive, handing it over. His skin broke into gooseflesh when Reichold snatched it from him. The motion seemed a little too quick - a little too excited. Reichhold held it up in his fingers before flashing it at Walker one last time. Then he dropped it into his coat pocket.

“They won’t search me,” Reichold said. Then he smiled at him. It wasn’t a comforting smile in the slightest. Walker felt his skin break into a cold sweat. “I got your back.”

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Alex.”

“Except for the t-cog, right?” That smile kept up, growing wider and hiding betrayal. Walker felt a sense of dread washing over him. It was _not_ a nice smile, but maintained the masquerade in the least convincing way possible. “I know you brought it back.”

“I had to, Alex.” Walker tried to swallow the knot forming in his throat. Something about the other man seemed... wrong. Dangerous.

“It’s too bad you’re a weak link.” Reichold was still smiling. “Might as well say your goodbyes.”

Walker began to shake. “To what?”

“Robo House. What else?” The smile remained, but the threatening tone had finally plateaued. Oh. Oh yes, of course, say goodbye to _Robo House!_ Walker felt his heartbeat decelerate. He was just... imagining things. Yes, his sense of dread had metastasized into unreasonable paranoia, nothing more. 

He turned his head to look out the open siding of the gunperry. The gunperry continued to rapidly ascend and bank, circling the compound like a vulture over a fresh kill. It was such a lovely facility. It almost felt like yesterday that he had arrived for his tour. The sightlines from the gunperry back then had been almost identical. So clean cut, so pristine, so _untapped_ …

There was the _click_ of a seat belt being undone.

Walker turned his head.

A wrapped cast struck him in the face, driving the nail.

He wasn’t sure what happened next. The wind was rushing through his hair moments later, sucking the air out of his lungs. His spectacles, still broken from his encounter with the Doga Bomber, flew off his face. His face hurt from where he had been violently pushed out of the gunperry. Robo House was rapidly rushing up to meet him through his blurring vision, unwillingly to see him go so soon.

He tumbled through the air, an angel with crooked wings.

 _Why can’t I breathe?_ he thought.

Nicholas Walker struck the roof of Robo House at terminal velocity.


	14. Kao Lyn

**And even though I know that everything might**

**go downhill from here, I’m not afraid.**

**You can’t stop me now, you can’t hold me down.**

**I’ve made it this far now and I’m not burning out.**

**No matter what you say,**

**I’m not afraid.**

_Way Away_ – Yellowcard

**i**

At eight years old, she went with her father to see the parade.

He woke her up at quarter to six to announce she wouldn’t be going to school that day. This was under one condition: she had to go with him into the city. Now it made sense why he wanted her in bed so early the night before. She accepted his offer immediately. No school on a Friday when it was already going to be a long weekend?  _Absolutely._

The June of N.C. 0236 was particularly warm, and the heat from the previous day lingered between the depths of the tallest skyscrapers. The sun was beginning to chase the first nighttime shadows away when they got breakfast. Their apartment was within walking distance of the inner-city train stops, so the walk to the restaurant wasn’t far at all. She ate pancakes and fruit cups at the Big Tray Diner while her father had his “refuel soup.” It smelled gross, but she wasn’t about to criticize how he took his coffee when he was going out of his way to save her from seven hours of classwork. Daylight broke and bathed the diner in gold through its tall windows. The weather announcement on the radio forecast plenty of sunshine and a cool breeze to spare.

“Perfect,” her father said.

The difference in the city’s atmosphere when they left the restaurant was astounding. In a gap of less than thirty minutes, Neotopia was buzzing with activity... and this was only the city outskirts! She hadn’t had enough time to appreciate the quiet streets beforehand. Busses ran their routes toting the higher-grade kids to school, cars dodged around each other in expert merges, and the commuters who chose to walk choked the sidewalks in tight-enough quarters to make her nervous. She clutched her father’s hand all the way to the train station as they moved through the crowds.

It wasn’t until they reached the crosswalks at the top of Camille Drive that she noticed the first signs of traffic being redirected. It was part of her usual school bus route, but she almost didn’t recognize the intersection because of the Peace Core officers standing everywhere. The road leading to her school was accessible, and the line of traffic merging onto the road moved just fine... but the direction of road heading deeper into the city was sealed off. Heavy concrete barricades with the Peace Core logo blocked the way. The officers were rerouting cars onto the next available road with signs saying DETOUR.

“They’ll be redirecting cars onto the highways,” her father said. “It won’t be easy for commuters trying to get into the city for work.”

“Is this where the parade is going to be? How come we have to take the train?”

They crossed the street. “The parade is further in the city. The blocked off street is a protest route.”

She frowned. “Protest?”

“To protest the parade.” They made it to the entrance of the subway station, delving down the stairs and into the cool underground. It was packed to the point of discomfort, and these stations were usually very spacious. Other people had accounted for the parade detours when starting their own commutes, it seemed.

“Why would you protest a parade? I thought everyone liked parades.”

He laughed, pulling her gently along. “Most people do, but this is a pretty special kind of parade.”

From what she gathered listening to other subway commuters, traffic routes leading anywhere near Peace Park were being redirected to highway exits, forcing commuters to take the longest way possible into the city. The rerouting was a drastic inconvenience that had drivers scrambling the next best route into work. At least the problem was so widespread that it wouldn’t be their fault if they were late, and many businesses were already starting to announce daily closures. A dark-skinned woman on the train had a datapad in front of her and was listing said closures as they popped onto her screen.

“Neotopia Tower office spaces are shutting down. Too many cars deadlocked on the detour roads, and Universal Avenue is the main parade route.”

This earned a groan from a woman who may have been a receptionist. “Which one?”

“All of them.”

The train burst into a chorus of exasperated groans.

They almost missed their stop when the non-sapient AI missed calling the station they wanted. Thankfully her father was paying enough attention to the previous listings to realize something was wrong. Industrial Park station, Downtown Plaza station... He had to rush to get out the doors with her when he realized that they had arrived at Universal Center station. GMs and other body-transitional robots weren’t working their shifts that day, including the robots that usually worked the trains. She asked her father about it.

“They’re going to the parade, too.”

“Just like you? Like us?” She stuck close to him as they exited the train station. The subway had come above ground at this point, spilling them less than a block from the iconic Universal Avenue. Neotopia Tower’s twin spires loomed overhead, still casting their mid-morning shadows over the town. He hadn’t been kidding when he said the robots were going to the parade, too: they were everywhere. Standardized GM models made up the largest amount, but there was no ignoring the sheer numbers of non-humanoid robots, too. Balls, construction and transport machines with non-transferrable AIs, an entire amphibious tugboat...

There were lots of humans too, but she never  _dreamed_ of seeing so many robots in one place.

“Wow,” she breathed, and that was all she could say for a while.

The parade started at ten o’clock sharp. The clocktower all the way at the end of the street began to chime heavy bell strokes and the crowd cheered. She heard the Steel Roses coming before they even saw them.

A massive line of motorcycles roared down the street in a slow roll, revving their engines in bursts that made her ears hurt. Judging by the cheers that rose around her, she could only imagine that this was the start of the parade. The bikers wore leather jackets with chains, studs, and heavy boots jingled. Despite the intimidating display, they were smiling and stopping their bikes to wave at onlookers. Her father said it was okay to follow their example. She found herself waving back.

“Those are the Steel Roses,” he said, kneeling and leaning close to her ear so she could hear him. “They’re very good people. They’re the ones that organized the parade.”

When the rank of escorting bikes went past, a GM and a human woman could be seen taking up the group’s rear. They walked down the street holding a large vinyl banner between them:  _Robot Justice for Neotopia! Welcome to the Parade!_

The parade was bright and exuberant. It was hard to imagine that while her classmates were stuck inside, she was out here for the spectacle. There were dozens of floats, many of which showcased local businesses and organizations. Most of them had a theme in common: they were mostly robot-owned or driven. While there were plenty of humans in the parade, robots outnumbered them by triple that amount. Other floats simply carried droves of robots who tossed beads and other kinds of party favors into the crowd. At one point, her father caught a collection of bead necklaces - and then passed it down to her.

The parade was amazing. It was disappointing to see the last float pass through. It was one of the city’s newest swan boats, jet black and lumbering down the street with passengers aboard armed with confetti cannons. As her father later explained, not everything was a paradise in color.

With the parade over, block-parties were starting to begin. She wasn’t old enough to go to most of them, but the end of the parade route supposedly had family friendly events. There was going to be a concert with the GM group Side 7, raffles, a massive barbecue... They began to follow the crowd towards Neotopia Tower’s Downtown Plaza, bypassing the train because, well, following the parade would be more fun. It was fun for the most part, but then they passed some angry looking people. Now she understood what her father meant about protestors when they passed a line of barricades with officers standing close by. People, none of them robots, held up signs and yelled at the robots as they passed. Their father whisked her away quickly, but she could still read:  _PROGRAMMING - not PERSONHOOD! We Turned You On… We Can Turn You Off! WE MADE YOU - SHOW RESPECT! You can get married… what more do you WANT?_

“They’re not all bad people,” her father said. He was using that same tone of voice he used for her when he was  _disappointed_ , and she immediately pitied all those people. “They just don’t want to admit that all the robots they did awful things to were living people.”

“I thought Neotopia liked robots,” she said.

He laughed at that. It wasn’t a happy sound. “Neotopia likes robots a lot, but it’s not always nice to them. Humans used to be able to own and sell robots regardless of their AI capacity. That means that GMs could be sold and bought as easily any computer. When robots got too old or too broken to work right, humans would throw them away. Robots used to not be able to have credit allowances. Most districts still won’t even let robots own their own houses. They have to rent apartments or live in group housing. They can adopt too, but they have to have case workers who check up on the child’s welfare every few weeks. Humans who adopt never have to deal with that.”

They got to the parade’s end venue, which was as much of a kaleidoscope as the parade itself. It was a maze of tents with different local businesses rallied underneath. The smell of barbeque sauce wafted from the direction of the quad’s pseudo-park, and the concert already firing off with the grills. She and her father explored the tent network first. Most of the businesses were GM owned, including a section for the Big Tray Diner. They gave out credit-free meals in exchange for signatures for petitions. Other booths advocated for certain local ordinances or condemned others for anti-robot policies. Her father got them an ice cream after a hearty rib and hotdog packed lunch, but the question from before still lingered like the spicy barbeque.

“That is why I wanted to take you.” Her father ruffled the top of her head. “A long time ago, people thought robots were just machines. They couldn’t think or feel, or at least that was what we thought. One of the original crewmembers from  _Neos One_ , Ryoko Kobayashi, is credited as creating the first sapient AIs…”

“The  _Neos One_ was the ship that brought us from the Old World!”

“When did you get to be so smart?”

They stopped around several more tents. Her father would stop and talk to every GM while she hid behind the safety of her parent, a little too shy to make herself as loud of a presence. They each got some fried dough before the end of the day. The venues were already beginning to clear out and Side 7 wrapped up their concert with an Old World song cover: an upbeat rock song with a powerful violin accompaniment. The song was stuck in her head for the rest of the night. They arrived at a packed train station with other robots waiting to go home. The trains were AI controlled again as their GM pilots returned. She could see one of them loading his body into the conductor’s port of the same train she and her father were about to board, his body decorated with stickers and beads from the parade.

Despite the excitement of the day, the conversation shifted to the Old World.

“People miss Earth, but we can never go back. It was destroyed a long time ago. “

“How come?”

He shrugged, which honestly surprised her. She thought he knew everything! “No one knows. A lot of people have their own theories, but no one remembers because Neotopia’s founders took medicine that made them forget. It was so scary, they didn’t want to remember… but a lot of people think that humans helped destroy it. Earth, I mean.”

“That’s so sad…”

“It is. That’s why we have to be extra kind to everyone who lives in Neotopia, robots included. They’re a much a part of this place as humans were a part of Earth. That’s worth celebrating. People have the right to live how they want if it makes them happy and doesn’t hurt others.”

They walked back to the apartment. The sun was beginning to dip below the height of the lower buildings, including the complex where they lived. Her father held her hand the whole way. His hand was warm to the touch from being in the sun all day, and she could still hear his internal fans whirling to try and stay cool. His standard GM visor reflected hard green light.

“No matter what they say,” he said, “don’t be afraid. Because even if it takes a while, and even if it seems a little scary at first, the future is going to be great.”

He died of an engine seizure seven years later. Decades of previously unmanaged wear-and-tear and a lack of proficient doctors trained to handle robots left him to drop dead in the middle of an intersection while making a run to the grocery store. His body was reclaimed by the city of Neotopia and smelted down for parts immediately after. She never even got to say goodbye. But she - he - persevered.

He wasn’t afraid at all.

**ii**

Dr. Kao Shi Lyn, sixty-nine years old, was the first person on the scene asked to identify the body.

October was a miserable month in Neotopia. While the colony was weather-controlled and generally made to be pleasant, cold snaps had to be allowed for some plants to flourish. Technology had made massive strides since the colony was first established (the weather modules in the atmosphere was what made Neotopia so easily terraformed once they were established), but genetics could only be developed so far. Certain trees modified from their Earth ancestors still needed brief hibernation periods. They also still required a cooldown time where they could shed their leaves and begin a period of fresh growth. Neotopia winters were never long (they maybe got one good snowfall before everything began melting again), so the brief “winter” season was never the problem. Most citizens looked  _forward_ to it! But the cold evening drizzles that were common throughout October were brutal on old bones, regardless of how active you were.

Plus, the bloody water on the roof of Robo House was starting to seep into his shoes.

When the GM officer pulled the largest of the tarps back, Kao Lyn focused on maintaining his breathing. Thank God he’d been meditating for as long as he had before setting out in his personal chopper-ball. It was... bad. Much worse than he had been led to believe.

“Yes. That’s Nicholas Walker, I’m afraid,” he said as even as he could. “I recognize the sling. He was wearing it when I spoke to him yesterday. I’m assuming you won’t be able to draw up dental records to confirm…”

“No. The height of the fall destroyed anything we could use. DNA is being rushed, but that’s why wanted a second identification.”

 _“Geez...”_ Guneagle murmured. The flier shuffled, taking an immediate step back. “That used to be a human person? What about the other tarps?”

The GM lowered the edge of the plastic sheet, concealing the mangled corpse once more. “The rest of him. You don’t fall from that high and not explode.”

Guneagle shifted uncomfortably. Monday must have recognized his cousin-unit’s discomfort, because he quickly whisked him away to do something else. The drizzle picked up, spreading the stains of red even further across the roof of Robo House. It reminded Kao Lyn of watercolor paints on a too-wet canvas.

“EMTs say he died instantly, if it’s any consolation,” the GM officer said. “Our current finding is that it was a suicide. We’re sorry for your loss.”

It wasn’t a loss, though it was still a tragedy. Nicholas Walker had awful practices as a doctor, but his death hadn’t brought Kao Lyn any comfort. He never understood what he did wrong - now he never would.

Robo House was alight in red and blue strobes when he got off the roof and exited the front steps of the compound. The “public” front of Site R was once maintained like a legitimate hospital, which was a great reel for civilians wanting to enroll in the First Phase. The landscaping had been professional with a large lawn, circle drive, and even a fountain... but since closing its access to Neotopia citizens, the entrance went unused beyond serving as extra parking space for staff. Now it was nothing more than a mess of unkempt hedges, ruined grass, and scattered emergency vehicles. Seven police cruisers, two fire trucks, and a lonely ambulance with its ignition turned off sat in the entryway courtyard. The coroner’s van had finally arrived too, pulling up and switching into park on the grass.

Alexander Reichold was sitting on the back lip of the open ambulance. He had a shock blanket wrapped around his shoulders but smacked away every GM that tried getting close to him with the hot chocolate. He saw Kao Lyn coming and straightened himself out accordingly. Despite being a surgeon under Kao Lyn’s own robotic-medical department, the young doctor had taken a shining to Dr. Walker’s work in Robo House. He could often be found with him when not on duty at his own post. Kao Lyn had been getting... complaints about the man in recent weeks, but nothing quite worth firing over. Not yet.

Kao Lyn could see his breath as he exhaled. He ground to a stop and felt his skin prickle under his suit. He must have been walking a little too fast, because he almost stumbled. “What happened?”

“Nick decided he’d rather be face to face with the ground than face to face you.  _That’s_ what happened,” Reichold said. A human EMT came over this time, offering him hot chocolate for a third time. This time he took it. “Knowing he was going to lose everything made him snap. I knew he was a little unstable, but damn…”

“So he  _jumped?”_

“I tried to stop him from undoing his seatbelt, but he slammed his fists down on my cast and I couldn’t…” Unable to finish his own sentence, the surgeon let his injuries speak for him. He lifted his arm. The cast on his hand was fractured straight down the center, as if something had struck it with tremendous force. His voice wavered with emotion, but his face was transfixed in a strange expression of irritability. “The next thing I know, the seat next to me is empty and I see him disappear mid-roll over the door-platform. the pilot is screaming. I caught one last glimpse of him before he hit the ground.”

“Did the pilot see what happened?”

“He only saw the part where Walker was already midair. You can ask him yourself. The cops are interviewing him now.”

True to word, across the lawn of Robo House’s public front, a SDG GM was being interviewed. The mech looked distraught, gesticulating as he retold his story to an officer for probably the fifth time. Kao Lyn made a mental note to get his name so he could get the next few weeks off. “Why weren’t the doors closed?”

Reichold sipped his hot cocoa. “The pilot told me before we took off that one of the fuel lines on the ship had been nicked. I guess it powered the side panels. He said it wasn’t going to be a big deal since he was trained to fly open-compartment... so long as no one decided to jump out. The gold prize for  _Joke of the Day_ goes to one very unlucky robot pilot.”

Guneagle and Monday were waiting by Kao Lyn’s personal chopper-ball when he made his way towards them. The newly retrofitted Gunchopper One and the GE-01 were standing and talking amongst themselves.

“I’ve never seen a dead human before,” Guneagle said. He looked miserable in the rain. His armor was dripping heavy beads of water that pooled under his pedes, causing him to sink into the damp ground. “I didn’t know they could just… kill themselves like that.”

“With ready access to mental health care, suicides in Neotopia are extremely rare. Only three cases were reported this year.” Kao Lyn paused. “Four.”

“Five if you count the Commander,” Guneagle said, and it finally occurred to Kao Lyn  _why_ the flier was so uneasy. He had been the first to reach Sazabi on the hillside. He had seen the devastation that the Commander endured firsthand, witnessed what he had done to himself. Guneagle thought the Commander was dead before he started moving, and after an injury like that? He should have never started moving again in the first place. Guneagle had recovered from his injuries during the initial Dark Axis invasion... but it would be a while before he recovered from other traumas.

“But the Commander survived,” Monday said. The Gunchopper made a face, turning his head to follow something in his line of sight. Kao Lyn spared a quick glance. Reichold was headed for an unmarked car that rolled up past the police barricade, angrily disregarding the medic GMs that were still trying to fuss over him. The black sedan was a newer model with jet black paneling. It circled the front courtyard of Robo House’s grand entrance foyer, and someone in the back opened a door. Reichold got in, shouting off obscenities to the car occupants before they left.

When the car was out of sight past the main gate, Kao Lyn looked at Monday.

“It’s a rental,” the Gunchopper said. “M’Quve Luxury Car Loan and Vase Appraisal.”

“Oh what, so you’re a helicopter  _and_ you can tap into business databases now?” Guneagle shot Kao Lyn a look. “What’s with all the fancy upgrades recently?”

“Without Captain in Neotopia, we’re drastically outgunned and underprepared for other attacks. While the chances of a third invasion are low, we made the mistake of not preparing for the second invasion to begin with. I’ve had to upgrade all our active units in the event that we receive visitors from the Dark Axis again,” Kao Lyn said. He watched the black car disappear through the thick forest path, watching until its flashing brake lights vanished in the dark wood. “You will be receiving upgrades as well, Guneagle. Your frame needs to completely recover from your injuries last June, first.”

“Yeah, taking a warhead to the chassis wasn’t a great idea.” Guneagle rubbed the back of his head. As if fate wanted to emphasize his condition, the mech winced and dropped his arm back down. “Haven’t felt the same since.”

“You would recover faster if you stopped undoing all my repairs with  _stunts.”_

 _“Someone_ had to stop that Commando from turning Shute into a pepsaber shish kabob, and I was the one who took Nana from the Commander when  _that_ shit storm happened.”

Which was true. Kao Lyn patted his creation on the arm before going to seat himself inside his chopper-ball. “We’ll return to Blanc Base and let Chief Haro know about the positive identification in person. This isn’t a conversation I want to have on the phone.”

“If I may?” Monday moved closer to them. His voice was noticeably hushed. “While we are on the subject of modifications… the Gundivers were affixed sensory scanners used to analyze humans.”

“For what reason, dude?” Guneagle didn’t seem to understand. But Kao Lyn did. Before closing the main hatch of his transport, he leaned out to better hear Monday.

Gunchopper One continued, but only after glancing over his shoulder to make sure none of the other humans or robots were present. “Drowning humans often do not indicate they are in distress. Their instincts will drive them to focus on breathing before attempting to shout for help. They remain upright in the water without kicking, may tilt their heads back to help regulate breathing... Human lifeguards are trained to recognize the quiet distress behaviors indicative of drowning. So are the Gundivers, but Kao Lyn installed my brothers and I with equipment where we can scan humans and recognize distress directly.”

“Cool,” Guneagle said. Then, “I don’t get it.”

Monday looked at Kao Lyn. Those piercing green optics spoke volumes. “You are not a lifeguard, but you are a trained professional in other fields. I watched you speak with that surgeon from a distance. My scanners told me all I need to know, but did you notice something?”

Kao Lyn did, and nothing more needed to be explained.

Alexander Reichold was not drowning.

**iii**

Omar Bellwood poked his head into Kao Lyn’s “office,” which was really just his workshop. He preferred having a workbench over a desk, anyways. The space had high ceilings and an uninterrupted floor plan with scattered stations throughout. Blueprints for past and future projects hung on the walls in blown-up banners obscured by hanging WIP armor sets and unfinished limbs (Captain went through most of them, honestly). It was the kind of setup that most mechanical engineers dreamed of owning. The space was well lit too, but Kao Lyn almost jumped out of his skin when the teen came in from one of the lesser used entrances.

“Boss?” Bellwood’s voice was somber. “The video’s ready.”

Kao Lyn put down the Commander’s recently recovered t-cog, mid-dissection. He would have gotten around to cataloging its internal components a week earlier, but the part had been misplaced in Bellwood’s lab at some point. Most likely it got lost when he was sorting the Commander’s salvaged pieces. Under normal circumstances, Kao Lyn would have told Bellwood to wait. He was behind on his schedule to put the Commander back together, and time was a commodity that Sazabi didn’t have… but this was important. Very important. Both engineers made their way down to the bridge and turned off to reach the security hub. It was admittedly one of the smaller sections of Blanc Base, but well equipped regardless.

Elizabeth Keene, Juli Petrov, and Chief Haro were already waiting when they arrived.

Kao Lyn immediately made his way towards the SDG leader. “I heard your house finished with its renovations.”

“Renovations? I thought people remodeled in the summer.” Bellwood frowned. “Isn’t it a little late in the year?”

“It was unscheduled,” Chief Haro said. His voice intoned on exhaustion and warned not to pry further. “We moved back in the other night.”

“We?” Again, Bellwood was frowning. He wasn’t very good at taking verbal cues. “I didn’t know you had a family.”

“We should probably change the subject,” Juli said, glancing at Kao Lyn and giving him The Look. They both knew. They were high enough in the SDG pecking order beneath Haro to understand that the move was supposed to be easy... but Pamela Ray was driving her son up the wall with her “home improvement” suggestions. It was going to be another week before Mark could convince his parents that it was safe for them to leave him in peace.

The door to the security office opened. Hannah Badders stuck her head out, but the redhead wasn’t smiling. “Sorry for the wait. It’s ready.”

The six of them filed into Blanc Base’s monitor room, which was a sarcophagus with two full walls of Blanc Base CCTV and robot bodycam footage (Cobramaru’s little stunt several months earlier had made the latter a necessity). It was late enough in the day that no one else was present. Everyone nonessential had either gone home or was waiting in one of the onsite base lounges to start their shift. The largest of these monitors was already set with a timestamped video from earlier in the week. The paused still showed Commander Sazabi lying in his hospital room, prone and comatose. A nurse stood nearby with her nose in her phone.

“I’m sorry this took so long to get ready,” Hannah said. She sat down at the console, swiveling the chair around to look back at the party of officials behind her. “So many people rushed in to help during the incident last week, robots with their own recording-footage included. The interviews took a while to conduct. Not to mention, I’m still running through interviews about Michael’s Justice in the meantime.”

“We appreciate everything you do, Hannah,” Juli said. She braced her hand on the other woman’s shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. “We wanted the footage, but there was never a noose on you to get it done right away. We know you’re busy as it is.”

“Thanks. I’m just frustrated that I spent so long trying to fix the footage when it didn’t even need to be fixed.”

“Fixed?” Chief Haro’s ear fins flapped. It looked ridiculous. “How?”

“That’s the bizarre part.” Hannah turned around and faced the console again, plucking up a small stack of datapads. She handed one to each of them. “I’ve already opened it to the page you want. It’s the transcript of what the Commander said based on the conducted witness interviews.”

“Couldn’t we have gotten this context straight from the video?” Elizabeth swiped her finger across the screen with a frown. “What Commander Sazabi says doesn’t even make sense. It’s just incoherent blather. With as much processor damage as he has, I’m not surprised.”

“I agree. This is very convenient, but I fully repaired Sazabi’s voice box weeks ago.” Kao Lyn read the whole transcript at once. He also frowned. “I will not disappoint you. Make me perfect... it sounds like his fragmented processor was struggling to function, so it dredged up past phrases in place of coherent dialogue.”

Elizabeth Keene glanced at him. He spared her a look, too. They had both been present for the aftermath and seen what happened with Kelly Donahue and Alexander Reichold. The blood, Kelly’s incoherent screams... the entire event was mystery enough. Kao Lyn wasn’t sure either one of them was prepared to delve deeper.

_“Is this Sazabi talking, or Kelly?”_

(Kelly had been “reacting” on behalf of the Commander. That much was blatant, but what wasn’t obvious was  _why._ The girl didn’t have the profile of a person prone to suffer a mental breakdown. Despite everything that she had been through with her boyfriend killed during the first invasion, her psychological profile was never in question. She also indicated she had no memory of the attack after it happened. Something happened to her in there - something  _huge_ \- and they were about to find out. That genuinely scared the shit out of him.)

“What he said isn’t important. Based on the interviews I sat through, I thought the audio on the video was broken until I compared it to some of the GM bodycam footage. Just... trust me on this.” Hannah had a strange look on her face. She turned around and hit play.

Hannah had timed the video perfectly. Four seconds into the feed, Commander Sazabi’s arm jerked. It startled the poor nurse on duty who immediately stopped texting to look at the Axian. Three more seconds passed. The nurse set down her phone to look over Sazabi’s vitals. With a slow burning glow, the souldrive whirled to life to gear up for an activation charge. They specifically installed cameras in the room to record future activation cycles, but their decision to install less than fifteen hours earlier couldn’t been timed any better. As the souldrive continued to whirl to life, a faint tremor worked up the Commander’s damaged frame. this was far from a standard activation cycle. The rattle filtered through the audio feed like rusted windchimes.

“The audio seems to be working fine,” Juli said.

“Wait.” Hannah leaned back in her chair, as if being so close to the console was going to burn her. “Watch.”

Based on the incident debriefing the week before, the video followed through as Kao Lyn expected. The Commander’s thrashing intensified and the nurse on duty pulled an alarm to summon other staff members. More nurses and the first of the onsite doctor rushed in to assess and try to control the situation. Sazabi was too heavy (and brittle) for what anyone had been trained to handle, so any amount of movement was threatening. Uncontrolled, and the results risked disaster. When it was clear that the situation was far worse than anyone anticipated, more people flooded the room. GMs, doctors previously off-duty, agents from the communications department called in to serve as extra muscle… Dr. Reichold rushed into the room next, but by then the comatose Commander was enduring a full seizure and throwing his restraints like they were nothing. He was damaging himself faster than the staff could stop him. A piece of armor snapped in two and flew off his arm. One of the screws wiring his jaw in place came loose and rocketed across the room like a gunshot. A pulled fire alarm flashed off-camera. The scream of equipment and shouts of the medical team nearly drowned out the audio, still working as intended.

Kelly Donahue came into frame.

The temperature in the security-screening room dropped. As the nurse came into the shot, Kao Lyn saw Chief Haro’s shoulders straighten. Juli’s posture tensed, Elizabeth’s stance shifted, and Bellwood shuffled on his feet uncomfortably. Even Hannah, who had seen the footage maybe a dozen times over by now, looked ready to abandon her spot. Kao Lyn felt his heart knot and burrow deeper into his body. They knew what was coming.

“What happened!?” That was another doctor rushing into the room past Kelly and another nurse, Marianne. It was the first bit of coherent audio in the recording. Kao Lyn kept his focus on Kelly. He watched Ms. Donahue like a hawk, waiting for the moment anything changed. “Somebody find Dr. Keene! Call Chief Haro!”

“This shell started thrashing on its own again!” Alexander Reichold’s voice was the clearest of anyone in the room. It carried through the camera speakers with a hard crack. He was pushed up against the wall between several non-medical aides from the communications department, trying their best to help with the restraints. Reichold’s face was red with fury as he started to shove his way past them, causing an aide to lose their grip on Sazabi’s arm. “Hodges, cut the power! Do as I say! This lunacy has gone on long enough!”

“NO!” Catherine Hodges was already there, trying to hold down one of the Commander’s arms with her bare hands. “We wait it out until Lizzie gets here! You’re not the lead doctor!”

“I am the highest-ranking person in this room and I command you to cut the fucking power!” Reichold went to shove his way through the crowd, headed for the life support engines. Kao Lyn remembered dispatching Renee Clarke to fix them the same day. A GM tried to stop him, but he elbowed them out of the way with enough force to send them falling. “That thing is a danger to everyone and it’s going to stop unless we turn it off for good! I’ll do it myself!”

That was the moment that Sazabi lurched upward on the cot. His broken backstrut had never been fixed, so his posture sagged and leaned lopsided to the right. It looked painful. The metal in his body shrieked in pitiful protest. The Commander’s welded joints snapped and caused him to flop over like a poorly wielded marionette. As the room quieted in sheer terror, the mech’s jaws unhinged. The Commander said nothing, but the world of staff trying to push him back down were transfixed in horror all the same.

Kao Lyn narrowed his eyes. “Turn the volume up.”

“That’s just it,” Hannah said. Her voice was hollow. “It is turned up. I interviewed every single person in that room and they all heard the same thing… but on video, on all the videos, he doesn’t say anything.”

The room had chilled to the point of freezing. Elizabeth looked at the transcript, the video, then back down at the transcript again. Her eyes widened as she roughly passed her datapad to Bellwood and stepped forward to defy what she was seeing and hearing. Haro followed her example: as if being closer to the monitor would help him defy the slow burning nightmare they were bearing witness to.

“Everyone  _heard_ him talking,” Chief Haro hissed.

“The equipment doesn’t lie. It’s not faulty and it recorded the rest of the audio fine. Commander Sazabi doesn’t say a word on this entire recording.”

Kao Lyn felt ice water in his veins, followed by the surge throughout his entire body when Kelly’s head snapped to the side to look at Reichold. Her gaze went slack, but her eyes were like homing missiles. They locked in as the man reached the largest of the Commander’s life support engines to pull the plug.

She bared her teeth and screamed.

It was the most blood curdling sound Kao Lyn had heard come out of another human being. The nurse’s knees bent in preparation to pounce before she lunged for Dr. Reichold, diving her fingers into his jacket and wrenching him to the ground with the weight of her body. The man squealed in terror as he went down, struggling to recover from the force of the impact.

Then, in full view of the camera, she grabbed his hand, pried his wailing half-fist open, and bit down on his middle and index finger full force. Blood erupted from her mouth and sprayed on the pinned doctor. His white lab coat was awash in a blooming splatter of red. The team once transfixed on keeping the Commander from thrashing himself to pieces reassessed their priorities and pivoted to Reichold’s aide. Sazabi remained upright and still, his optic pulsating hypnotically in a dead stare.

Elizabeth’s voice was far away. “Dear god, it wasn’t just her.  _All of them_ were influenced. That’s why they could hear him when...”

“Influenced.” Chief Haro was shaking. It wasn’t a question.

“You have to understand, when Chief Kao Lyn and I arrived on the scene to help detain Kelly Donahue, she wasn’t having a psychotic break. We received her evaluation later the same day and she was stable. Kao Lyn and I— we hypothesized the impossible, and I think it was just proven.”

 _“What_ was proven?” The man was still shaking. The screams resonating through the speakers intensified. On the video screen, Reichold was struggling to kick himself back along the floor, smearing blood in his wake.

“That Sazabi’s remote-control abilities transcend beyond monitoring Dark Axis soldiers and commanding the Magna Musai.”

The video continued to play through it’s awful reel. Kelly Donahue thrashed her head like an animal, trying to sever Reichold’s fingers with malicious intent. When Hodges and Marianne tried to pry her off, she momentarily lost her grip and was successfully pried away… but then she tossed the other two women off like they were nothing. Before Reichold could scramble up and slip away, Kelly was back on top of him. She opened her mouth wide and bit down on the side of his hand, thrashing once more. Reichold howled in agony. Kelly came away with a piece of flesh in her mouth, which she chewed and swallowed before someone could stop her. Her teeth were stained red on the camera.

“HEAR ME!” Kelly’s voice was guttural.  _”HEAR ME!”_

Hannah stopped the video. The frame froze on Kelly as she pulled her hands back, prepared to claw open Reichold’s face with her bare hands.

“I sure as hell heard  _that,”_ Bellwood said, but even in sarcasm, he sounded as afraid as they all felt.

**iv**

It was an understatement to say that they were all terrified of the Commander. Even after he was disarmed, briefly imprisoned in Robo House and the Ray household, and finally laid to rest on a gurney where he possessed a woman to partly cannibalize another person’s arm… there was still an element of  _fear_ that followed in the huge mech’s shadow. Immobile and non-functioning, he was a threatening presence that demanded respect. He had singlehandedly brought the city to its knees during Neotopia’s moment of truth. Captain Gundam fought him off just  _barely_ to the point where the fight had the potential to turn out in the Commander’s favor with one well-placed punch. Sazabi was a wolf locked in a kennel with dogs: muzzled and chained, his existence alone was still potent enough to make all the other mutts cower.

The other dogs knew what he was capable of. They had seen him bite  _and_ bark.

“Citizens of Neotopia, mechanical or  _otherwise…_ HEAR ME!”

The day of the final invasion was cool as the sun vanished behind dark cloud cover. The roar of Axians heeding their master’s call was a slow rising siren. The sound started out low, growing into an elongated long howl that blanketed the city in its paralyzing stupor. Very few humans in the closest proximity to the tower were awake to hear its song, though: downtown Neotopia was a graveyard of silent statues. The humans that  _had_ escaped the worst of the bagu bagu invested zones had their wills broken. Those few survivors and the city’s robots echoed the howl with cries of terror. The sounds clashed in a symphony of victorious anguish. Violent joy and frightened denial.

Revelations 21:6.  _He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End._

The SDG could do nothing. Kao Lyn was spiritual, and even though he wasn’t necessarily religious, he picked a god and started to pray. He stood outside his gunperry and stared up at the Horn of War’s terrifying projection. Sazabi’s visage looked like a bloody sun against the darkened sky. The gunperry had landed on the top of artisan district overlooking Bright Way, originally having set down to help with the control horn cleanup. Now it was a sitting duck as Doga Bombers surged overhead to join their master. Kao Lyn’s heart dropped into his stomach in a painful descent.

Captain Gundam was out of commission. Guneagle was down for the count after bringing down one of the Commandos. The Gundivers were at the bottom of the ocean in stasis lock. Bakunetsumaru and Zero were silent over the radio and presumed MIA. They had no more battle-ready fighters to spring to their defense. They had  _nothing,_ and the Dark Axis capitalized on a checkmate to reveal their winning piece.

“Oh man,” Bellwood said. “Is that…”

“Their leader,” Kao Lyn said. The SDG only had the intel they received from Zero about the Dark Axis three years earlier (plus what they had gathered from the two Zakos posing as reporters that one time,) but this was bad. They knew about the presence of the Commanders in the Dark Axis’ ranks. Zero told them about the horror that Commander Nightingale extended onto Lacroa, but she still wasn’t the prize in the commanding fold. That role went to someone much “tougher  _and_ scarier.”

As hilarious as it had been to watch  _Zakoko_ and  _Zako Tom_ “with Neotopia News” accidently spill secrets about the Dark Axis, no one was laughing now. Especially not about “the Great One.”

“Hear me and obey, for I am Commander Sazabi…  _master_ of this  _world!”_ The proud red shape at the top of the Horn of War was a mass of sharp edges and regal gold highlights. Even in the absence of sunlight, his armor gleamed with the luminosity of hellfire. Satan had finally taken roost with his flighted servants. No angels remained to oppose him in his declared mastery.

The rallying cry of obedient Axians continued to swell, choking out what few resisters remained.

Kao Lyn prayed harder.

“We are so _dead,”_ Bellwood said. “Ooh, we are so dead.”

“No, not yet.” Kao Lyn felt his determination coil like a furious snake, but there was nothing to spring and sink his fangs into. Humans could only do so much. That was why the Gundam Project had been launched, but they had run out of Gundams to throw the Commander’s way. Defanged, there was nothing they could do.

“Kao Lyn, it’s  _over.”_ Bellwood was looking at him with an expression he had never seen on the teen before. Omar suddenly looked much,  _much_ younger. His front of quiet hot-headedness was gone, replaced with almost childish terror. Even then his expression was still changing, devolving... he looked like he was going to cry. “We’re gonna die, aren’t we?”

“Your days of resistance are at an end.  _You are defeated!”_ Commander Sazabi continued, uninterrupted. His armor still shone in the gloom like a deathly beacon.

“We’ve beaten you before and we’ll do it again!” There was a crack of a citywide intercom, preceded by a short burst of static that caught everyone unawares.  _That_ was Mayor Margaret Gathermoon. Kao Lyn was horrified to realize what was happening beyond the obvious of the Dark Axis invasion: the mayor, unpetrified, was sealed  _inside_ Neotopia Tower. The bugs must not have been able to get into the rotunda where her office was. Now she was using the citywide emergency speakers to serve her elected duty as Neotopia’s voice. It was the final protest of a woman who had nothing left to lose.

“Not  _this_ time,” Commander Sazabi said. He never missed a beat in his pronunciation, never taken aback by her voice piercing the city skyline. His projection on the dark clouds jerked - and something in his hand sparkled. Kao Lyn didn’t think it was possible for his heart to sink any deeper. His ears were ringing. He zoned out, watching the ancient Old World tech jostle in the Commander’s suspended grasp like a captured bird. He couldn’t hear what Mayor Margaret yelled in fright, or what the Commander’s reply was. He disassociated too hard from the rest of the world to make sense of it.

Now it was clear why they lost contact with Captain Gundam.

“...so you  _see_ , little ones, you don’t have a choice…” That was the first thing he heard when his capacity  _to_ hear came back. It left Kao Lyn was an awful taste in his mouth. On top of the knowledge that Captain Gundam was probably dead (they had lost all contact with him after he went dark inside the Captain System Brain World, including getting a read on his vitals), the Commander’s words stung. Neotopia was a place where everyone was supposed to be free to live their lives the way  _they_ wanted to.

It wasn’t enough that the Commander had killed one of the mechs who was a son to him, petrified their city, and attempted to brainwash their robot friends. Now he was trying to tell them that they had  _no choice_ in the matter.

Kao Lyn shook. No. This could not be allowed to  _end_ this way. Not after everything that had been sacrificed to get the souldrive into his hands and installed inside Captain Gundam. Not after everything that had been surrendered in the wake of Earth’s destruction. Not after how far they had all pushed themselves to survive in the face of extinction.

Everyone had a choice.

Everyone  _deserved_ the right to choose.

**v**

The right of Neotopia’s citizens to dictate their own fates was hardwired into their very society: even before Neotopia as a city  _existed._ For example, in N.C. 0000 when the humans of the  _Neos One_ first entered their new planet’s orbit, the people who awoke from stasis had already taken amnesiacs. Earth was going to missed, but whatever disaster had chased them away had frightened them to the point of only wanting to forget. Whether it was nuclear war, a comet strike, or something far more sinister, they had brain-altering drugs fed to them intravenously while they slept. The medicine was enough to make them forget  _why_ they left Earth, but not who they were as people. A lawyer woke up still remembering how to practice law but not what college he had graduated from. Survivors of the worst of Earth’s last day horrors remembered the faces of loved ones but not how they died. It was a confusing end to the Old World’s legacy, but their option to forget that terror was their choice. It had to be respected.

The usage of these amnesiacs peaked in N.C. 0003. When the original crewmembers who saw Earth die and  _knew_ what happened to it took their own drugs, there were risks involved. They had no choice but to take their dose all at once without the benefit of cryogenic sleep to ride through it. It crippled most. Ryoko Kobayashi suffered crippling night terrors and became a workshop hermit. Mirai Yasuke, the astrophysicist who plotted the course away from Earth, had an allergic reaction and lived the rest of her days without long-term memory. Jesus Antoine had a drastic personality change and died as an angry, bitter old man who loathed AI advancement, ensuring that his life’s work as a psychologist would go mostly ignored due to his hateful rhetoric. The only person to adapt “well” to the amnesiacs had been Dorian Mass, who went on to start a family and live her life with relative normalcy. Noah Bright had been presumed to adapt well to the amnesiacs, too...

Well. Until he put a bullet in his head.

Neotopia capitalized on its right to choose as society progressed. By N.C. 0020, the weather modules in the planet’s orbit had allowed humans to safety terraform their established colony. An atmosphere was allowed time to develop and the first plants were grown, aiding in natural oxygen production and speeding up construction efforts. Neotopia was christened ten years later in N.C. 0030 by Mayor Yuuichi Abe, and a “proper” government was set up with capitalist ideology. Citizens had the right to choose their leaders, their career paths, and go as far as to establish a protecting class of peacekeepers known as the Peace Core.

(Having an actual “police” force seemed to have negative implications behind it. As far as the amnesiacs went, there seemed to be lingering memories about Earth’s police forming their own military factions. Before Earth was swept into her death throes, these militarized factions were worse than some of the most violent riot mobs. No one could remember what destroyed Earth, but those scant memories were enough to scare Neotopia. On the flipside, the young colony also believed itself  _above_ the need for law enforcement. They were all well behaved adults who wouldn’t make the same mistakes as on the Old World, right? The Peace Corps existed for about six months before the  _Corps_ was dropped in favor of Core _._ That way they could be dubbed “the Core of Neotopia Values.” Yes, it was as dumb as it sounded.)

Of course, humans weren’t the only ones to harp on the idea that they deserved the right to live how they wanted. Before taking the amnesiacs that made her paranoid and sleep deprived, Ryoko Kobayashi developed the first AIs that were used to help build the colony. Her AI model was used as the baseline for all Neotopia robots from that point forward. By N.C. 0022, further advancements in AI expressiveness became more and more noticeable. They  _were_ made to act more humanlike to boost the morale of the low human population, but those growing signs of sapience started to raise concerns. Robots began to ask for better working conditions, much to the cardigan of their handlers who weren’t sure what to make of those requests. When it was time to recycle units, robots became increasingly vocal about wanting to “live” and fearing being turned off. They were afraid of  _death._

Humans had the right to choose how to live for themselves. But it would be another two hundred years before robots saw any freedom from their incompetent human slavers.

Professor Amelia Kaiser finally handed Kao Lyn his report. The paper jostled into his vision and snapped him out of his thoughts. the classroom amphitheater was empty, the other students having already fled to the safety of the outside world. You could hear a pin drop. Kao Lyn felt his blood rushing in his ears, his heart palpitating in his chest. She wanted him to be the last one out. He gingerly took the essay from her, felt it’s weight under his fingers...

“It’s outrageous,” she hissed. “It’s completely insensitive to Neotopia’s corporate institutions and borderline treacherous. I’m astounded.”

“So I failed?” He turned the essay to its last page to read the grade. A solid  _100_ in bold red lettering mocked him in stupid glamour.

“No.” Kaiser put both of her hands down in front of him, bracing the entire table. Her voice was a snake’s hiss, stray strands of greying hair falling over her face. “I  _love it.”_

The year was N.C. 0244. Neotopia was a fully developed city by then, and the colony had flourished in the two hundred years since its founding. Seventeen years old, Kao Lyn had skipped two years ahead in grade school and was wrapping up his sophomore year of college... or rather,  _colleges._ Trying to achieve a triple major at three different universities with accompanying double minors was no easy task. He was in for one hell of an achievement if he could pull it off, though. He knew he was smart enough: he had the IQ to prove it. He already had enough credits at each school to skip junior registrations and skip straight to his senior year, too. Engineering, general medicine, and philosophy were his majors…

Dr. Kaiser had one of her two doctorates in psychology. She was a fearsome woman with a steel shell that kept her interior frozen in ice. Sharp as a razor that could slash flesh to ribbons, she mostly taught at the Regild Health Science Foundation. Kao Lyn was a student there too (for his general medicine major, obviously), but it was during her “moonlight” philosophy course at Krung Threp University where they first met. Her philosophy major was her lesser known degree, but she seemed to prefer it. It was common knowledge that Kaiser was the most brutal in the classrooms with subjects she enjoyed teaching, and she  _loved_ PHI312:  _Post Old World Society and Ethical Theory._

The essay that Kao Lyn had the audacity to pass in the week before was going to solidify their relationship for decades to come.

He stared at the paper in front of him. While it was marked across all pages, the grade scratched on the back page spoke a truth: he really  _had_ passed. He flipped through the pages several more times, trying to see what the catch was. Kaiser cackled at him,  _giddy._ “I don’t understand.”

She recovered in seconds. The woman stood back to her full height, the wild gleam in her eyes settling back into her usual gargoyle stare. She was a menacing statue in the low light. “Ah. So your aim  _was_ to fail, then? That’s a shame. I can take it back if you don’t want it. I’d rather have my students be brilliant on purpose.”

“No, of course not! I’m...” Kao Lyn turned the essay over in his hands, still not convinced it was real. He kept his grip vice-like, afraid it would either disintegrate or Kaiser would snatch it back when he least expected. There was a long note on the back that he avoided reading for now. From all the classes he had with her, he knew how much Amelia Kaiser hated being ignored. It was best to address this right away before she got bored. “I completed the assignment based on the material was given. You asked us to analyze what makes Neotopia successful and apply it to social philosophy.”

“But  _you_ took it a step further,” Professor Kaiser turned around, walking back up the small stage of Krung Threp’s theatre. Pieces for an upcoming play were already set up for opening night in a week. The most notable of these props was an Old World car: not an original, but a painstaking recreation that must have taken hours to put together by an underappreciated mechanical-arts student. Kaiser was using one of its side-mirrors to hold her purse, a menacing bag with leather and buckles. She retrieved it and set it on her desk, fishing for something inside. “Rather than parrot to me the same mindless drivel as the rest of your classmates, you risked a failing grade to elaborate your own world view. You analyzed the social philosophy of our society as per the assignment... but rather than pander to the positives, you dissected what’s wrong as well. I enjoy Krung Threp as an institution, but it’s students have been lacking since Yale’s resource cuts. Your essay was a fresh change of pace.”

While Krung Threp University wasn’t  _struggling_ , it was small in comparison to Neotopia’s other colleges. The current mayor, Theodore Yale, was campaigning for more students to attend science institutions since his reelection. His endgame wasn’t hard to miss: he was pushing for another city expansion project. Neos II was a small planet compared to other celestial bodies, but Neotopia was its only colony. The last expansion had been in N.C. 0150, then halted in response to projected human birthrate. Lowered attendance at Krung Threp had killed the college’s other projects, like setting up a new faculty office building. Kaiser produced the car keys from her purse and sat down at her temporary office desk, gathering the rest of her belongings. Kao Lyn used her moment of distraction to approach, cautious.

“You said my essay was disrespectful.” he said, follow her route and stepping onto the stage.

“Yes, but disrespect can be as easily earned as its counterpart. Your arguments were valid. I enjoyed your writing thoroughly.” Kaiser looked up as he approached. She removed her glasses, setting them down on the desk in front of her. Without her face framed, she looked eerie.  _Friendly._ It was not the kind of light that Kao Lyn imagined her to be in. “Tell me about your thoughts on robot rights issues.”

“Professor?”

“Your essay.” Kaiser held her hand out. Kao Lyn was immediately compelled to give his paper back to her, even if he didn’t want to. He was afraid she was going to keep it and never give it back. To his relief, she didn’t shove it in her purse and walk away. Professor Kaiser knew  _exactly_ what she was doing, turning to page eight and pointing at the fourth paragraph below the third header:  _Work Labor & Sapient AI. _”Here. You go on to discuss the social philosophy of preserving human life by putting robots in the industrial workforce. Robots are far less prone to crippling disfigurements since parts can be easily replaced. Yet…”

Kaiser turned the page. She pointed to the fifth paragraph in the section.

“...you take the time to analyze how this decision to put robots in this situation is still philosophically  _wrong_ , because they are still people like the rest of us. This is the part I find most fascinating. The rest of your classmates didn’t delve this far into their writing. They passed over robot labor issues and moved on without criticizing the obvious: that society and the corporations that built up Neotopia value them only as a slave force.”

“Is it so wrong to imagine that sapient robots should be treated the same as people?”

“No, of course not.” Kaiser handed the paper back to him. Kao Lyn was quick to take it back. “But that’s the part I liked the most. While it’s true that you derailed your own assignment, there is no denying the craft in this essay. Even if you missed going over other points, I’m giving you a passing mark because you’ve impressed me.”

As Kao Lyn prepared to leave the classroom, Kaiser met him on the way out.

“I hear you have enough credits in all your college courses to skip straight to senior placement,” she said. It was  _bizarre_ having such a normal conversation with her. Kaiser wasn’t necessarily unapproachable as a person, but so many students avoided her in fear of ridicule... As some of the theater students filed in, they shared double-takes watching as she exited the theater with Kao Lyn at her side. He felt like he was talking to a tiger: albeit a tiger who recently ate and was no longer hungry, but a tiger all the same. The other students were waiting for her to pounce, but no attack ever came. “It’s a shame. I would have liked to have you for a student longer. You should consider taking a few summer courses to boost your transcript. I doubt you need it, but I could use a competent voice in my classes.”

Kao Lyn laughed. “My foster-parents would appreciate that. I converted their shed into a workshop and I may have... blown it up more times than they find appreciative.”

“Ah yes, that’s right. You’re an engineering major as well.” She paused as they reached the back door. “Forgive me for sounding forward, but I’m meeting with some... _associates_ for brunch this weekend. Some are professors with the Jae-Jin College of Political Science, but not all. I know several people who would love to read your essay if you would let me make copies. They would just as likely want to discuss your findings after.”

He froze. “It was that good?”

“Yes. So good, in fact, that you might be worth more than your degrees alone. I would ask you to consider joining me. Brunch is Sunday at eleven o’clock sharp.” She reached into her pantsuit pocket, producing a card with an address. “We would love to see you.”

As they each swung one of the double doors open, sunlight flooded over their bodies. A fresh sun shower had passed, and the gutters above the building were still pouring fresh rainwater.

“Everyone has the right to choose the way they want to live,” Kaiser said quietly. She reached into her purse and produced a small umbrella, which she opened through the door. In sharp contrast to her grey and black attire, the umbrella was spotted with colorful polka dot. Kao Lyn almost laughed out loud, then decided he valued not getting clubbed in the face. Kaiser was older than most, but she looked mean enough to throw a good punch. “Your essay acknowledged that we don’t extend that courtesy to everyone in the city, yet. Just because we don’t understand it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take the opportunity to try.”

She exited into the daylight, her heels clicking on the wet asphalt, and Kao Lyn watched her go. He turned over the card she had given him, shielding it from the stray droplets of water that splashed overhead.

On one side was an address in her handwriting. On the other, a single grey colored rose.

**vi**

Rebuilding Commander Sazabi was a labor of love and hate, and for different reasons each.

Above all, it was a labor of love. After witnessing the Commander go down in that red comet’s blaze, the knowledge of what he had  _done_ affected Kao Lyn more than anything. The Commander hadn’t just taken out a former ally of his, nor had he done so out of pure spite. He rescued Keiko Ray, fought through his firing security bolt to rescue her infant baby girl, and then chose to destroy Gerbera in a manner that would take him out of range of the city. A direct trajectory would have caused him to land in Neotopia’s metropolis boundary. Instead, he went higher into the atmosphere to widen his potential fall path. Sazabi  _purposely_ took him to the hillside where no one else would be hurt. By ensuring the destruction of the Zako Red proxy that Gerbera was piloting, he couldn’t command his fleet of Doga Bombers. They couldn’t be ordered to take out secondary targets now that their leader was gone. The mass suicide had been unfortunate, but an organized secondary-attack would have been more so.

Sazabi saved more people than were killed. He  _deserved_ the opportunity to live.

The sound of ripping fabric startled Kao Lyn to the point of swearing. He unwittingly pulled the rest of his arm free, but this only made the tear in his suit sleeve worse. His clothes had caught on one of the Commander’s most jagged pieces, possibly part of the shredded fuselage that hadn’t been removed when they first gutted his engine.

Building Sazabi was a labor of love. Alternatively, it was a labor of unrestrained  _hate_ because the Commander was still an alien and Kao Lyn had no choice but to  _wing it._

(Improvising on a mindless machine was one thing. Improvising on a living machine was another.)

Bellwood started to laugh, but then the teen blanched at the sight of his arm. He stepped back in shock, but his head still craned forward to get a better view. “Jesus, what the hell do you do?Bench press entire  _cars?”_

“I’m nearly seventy years old and I’m doing backflips on a regular basis,” Kao Lyn said. Damn. This was one of his best fitting Chinese suits, too. He shrugged off the ruined jacket, balling it up and throwing it onto the chair in the corner of the hospital room. Then he took the Single Whip pose in Sun-style to realign his train of thought. Bellwood wasn’t helping. He made a noise between a terrified squeak and gasp. Kao Lyn sighed. “T’ai chi ch’uan helps me keep in shape.”

“Keeping in shape is going to the gym twice a week and lifting a few weights. You look like mustache Santa Claus on steroids!”

Single Whip wasn’t helping with Bellwood’s squawking. He tried the Grasp Sparrow’s Tail sequence and let it fold into Snake Creeps Down for Wu-style. He followed it up with a backflip once he felt calm enough to resume. He had taken up tai chi in his thirties, but had practiced qigong for meditation as early as fifteen to self-treat his depression. It was a holistic system of coordinated body posture, created in the Old World in ancient times. While the exact history of that time was lost forever, Taoist, Buddhist, and Confucian philosophies had survived: and their meditation methods with them. He used qigong for his health and spirituality, and it served another practical purpose too: when it came time to teach Captain and the Gundivers how to fight, implementing their martial arts training was that much easier. Qigong was traditionally viewed as a practice to cultivate and balance “life energy,” if such a thing truly existed in a scientific capacity.

(But if the souldrive was anything to work by? It was, and god  _damn_ was it powerful.)

Kao Lyn grunted, shoving his arm back into the jagged trap that made up Sazabi’s exposed chassis. Whatever it was that ripped his sleeve, he prayed it wouldn’t catch his arm. While the Commander’s non-essential parts had been stripped clean to salvage and recreate his interior, shredded metal and bits too important to remove made up the remainder of his ravaged body. Even comatose, the Axian still had the capacity to seriously hurt someone. Kao Lyn felt along the knifepoint edge of a protruding reactor support beam, touching the piece of fabric still stuck to its tip. He reached along its length, gripped it, and snapped it off at its base before pulling out.

“Looks like a support beam,” Bellwood said quietly. He squeaked when Kao Lyn shoved it into his arms without warning.

“A support structure for the Commander’s fusion reactor, no doubt! We’ll have to take the weight and density into account into account when recreating his engine.” Kao Lyn reached back into the graveyard interior, moving south along a cluster of fried wires closest to the Commander’s right hip. His hand trailed over another jagged piece of metal. Too thin to be another support structure, too smooth and “new” feeling to be part of the original build. A piece from the emergency repairs done by the surgical team? If it was, it was too high up to be in the correct position. He frowned. “Light please!”

Watson was the closest person to him. He obliged. The Ball assistant passed Kao Lyn a small torch, which he took straight away. Illuminating the Commander’s gutted core was like looking at a car accident, a war zone of gored mechanics and sharp edges. Fire damage still marked the interior shell. Heavy cracks followed the path of the flame-scalded scars, weakening the integrity of the entire hull. It was amazing the entire outer shell hadn’t cracked by now... Kao Lyn gazed down the line of his arm to the current problem he was trying to fix. When the Commander had his most recent fit a week earlier, he had undone more than twelve hours of welding work. The braces used to pin the Commander’s once severed leg in place had come undone, causing a piece of shredded metal to cut across the sensor cables Kao Lyn had recently replaced.

Kao Lyn swore. “For every two steps forward, we take two steps back.”

“Can you fix it?” Watson asked.

“Do we even bother?” Bellwood made a face. “I feel we’re shoveling water out of a sinking boat. We’d be better off moving him into a new body altogether. Trying to put him back together this way is just...”

“Just what? We don’t know enough about Axians to risk a full body transfer. It may very well be impossible, and by the time we finish a new body and  _learn_ it’s impossible, we would have wasted too much time to save him. And with no discernable AI or memory module to move, the new body would be an empty vessel regardless! We  _have_ to rebuild the Commander this way to avoid losing him. Unnecessary risks should be avoided when dealing someone else’s life, especially when they have no voice to consent!” Kao Lyn gripped the frayed wires, pulling them away from the jagged piece that had sliced them with ease. “Yes it’s painstaking, but only making  _one_ step forward is better than nothing. These are merely severed down the middle, not melted beyond reproof. I should have them fixed in a jiffy!”

Using his other clawed hand, Watson extended a pair of pliers without prompt. Kao Lyn waved him off. The Ball almost looked offended. “I thought you said you could get it fixed in a jiffy?”

“Now that I’m here and the Commander is the most stable he’s even been, I’d like to do some exploratory work.”

“Most stable,” Bellwood intoned. “Right. He made a lady partially cannibalize a guy last week. Sounds super stable to me.”

 _“Medically_  stable, Bellwood. Don’t be fresh.”

The teen huffed.

Kao Lyn resumed, moving his arm deeper into the Axian. He followed the tubing left over from the Commander’s removed fuel pump. “While Bellwood categorized the parts that were recognizable from a standard mech build, the rest of the Commander’s internal components are still very alien! I would like to see what I can find for myself before we proceed with further repairs.” Kao Lyn looked up and gently patted the Commander on the armor. “Of course, this won’t hurt a bit.”

“He can’t hear you,” Watson said, deadpan. “He has no sensory—”

“Ah hah! That’s where you would be wrong! As we all remember, the Commander’s souldrive has gone off repeatedly. With the addition of last week’s incident, it appears that Commander Sazabi  _does_ have some sensory function.”

“You act like spur-of-the-moment wireless organic-possession is a good thing,” Watson mumbled.

“Well when you put it like  _that_ …” Kao Lyn moved his hands across the scarred insides of the Dark Axis Commander. “Unfortunate as that event was, it told us two very important things!”

“Such as?”

“Even with less than ten percent of his processor, the Commander can sense his surroundings. When Dr. Reichold threatened to turn off life support, Sazabi realized that he had to protect himself. With no auditory or visual connectivity in his brain, he  _heard_ what Reichold was going to do and  _saw_ where he was in relation to the engines.”

“By  _mind controlling_ someone.” It wasn’t a question. If Watson had the capacity to frown, Kao Lyn knew he would have. The Ball assistant rocked on his treads with slight irritability. “I don’t think a mechanical race of war robots bent on the destruction of organic life would have the capacity to hack it.”

“It sounds preposterous, but I’m sure I’ll find out how he did it!”

“Do you think it has to do with the piece of motherboard still left in his head?”

“To be frank, I don’t think so.” Kao Lyn frowned. “It’s a verybasic board, possibly for baseline program storage.”

As a fellow programmer, that got Bellwood’s attention. the teen sat down in the room’s only chair, deciding that Kao Lyn didn’t need him hovering. “Baseline?”

“When the Commander was brought in during  _Fallen Eagle_ , he had only two motherboards that survived the crash.” At this, Kao Lyn held up his free hand and flashed two fingers. The other hand continued to explore the inside of the Commander, trailing over tubes and switchboards. Some were tortured by fire, some were pristine: while he had never taken the opportunity to map out the entire inside of the Commander, he took the liberty of replacing the most basic pieces whenever he saw them. That usually happened in-between nursing shifts. Alien tech was still alien tech, but upgrading the most basic pieces was easy... and the more he got done, the better off Sazabi was. “In the days following emergency surgery, the first of the two motherboards caught fire and had to be removed. None of the software installed on the drivers remained intact due to fire damage, but a basic scan of the board itself revealed intact program blocks. For the Commander to have survived this long without completely shutting down, there must be something of integrity on the surviving board!”

“Probably just the data that tells him to destroy organic life,” Watson said, more serious than not.

The Commander’s body was extraordinary. Whoever had built him had certainly made it a  _labor,_ but not one of love. Kao Lyn came upon the first piece of alien tech, which he could feel straight away. Round and shaped like a weight. Impossibly smooth at the tip and tapering off into a series of bound wires around a shaft. Kao Lyn peered in deeper, plucking up his flashlight again to peer better inside. It was an alien power conductor attached to where the fusion generator should have been. That, in turn, connected to a series of burnt cables that fed to the crater where his thruster engines once were. A power relay of some kind? It was larger than any he had ever seen before, but if the Commander’s insane speed was to be considered, it made sense to have a heavy-duty conductor. It was stunningly crafted, but love was an element completely barren in the Commander’s scarred shell. Its base was clearly made from a of a conducting material as well, but having two mediums touching and conducting at the same time? Sazabi would have started to  _hurt_ over time, if he wasn’t allowed to max out his thruster capacity on a regular basis. Kao Lyn made a mental note to redesign it.

When Sazabi originally arrived at Blanc Base, Kao Lyn and his technicians were quick to disable all his weapons. This included stripping down the reflectors in his vulcan-cannon ports, disabling the hookups that connected his brain to his particle guns, stripping the generators that let him set up his own force field… but now that Kao Lyn could take his time with Sazabi, the extent of his violent design was blatant. The Command wasn’t just an officer of the Dark Axis: he was a walking gun. His weapon modules were not  _modular._ They were fixed into place with neural connectors that made them synonymous with the rest of his body. Temporarily disabling his weapons would be one thing, but removing them altogether? He saw signs of wear along the copper fillings where weapon-modules were meant to react to processor cues, extending beyond what could have been ruined by fire. It meant that the Commander had been sending charges down when it had nowhere to go. It didn’t mean that Sazabi was trying to fire his weapons: it meant that his processor was trying to check to see if they were  _on_ , because they were a part of him and were never meant to be turned off. The damage was minimal, but another few months with his weapons castrated? Sazabi would have started to feel  _pain_ , like a jogger running without shoes on hot asphalt.

When he rebuilt Sazabi, he was going to have to reinstall all his weapons.

“You’re joking,” Bellwood said when Kao Lyn told him. The teen looked miffed at first. Then he looked horrified. _“You’re not joking.”_

“His design is unethical, but forcing him to be anything other than himself simply because Neotopia demands it is even more so. We’re not tyrants. We’re not the Dark Axis. I don’t have a choice.”

Despite the flaw of the Commander being a living gun with a hair trigger and red crosshairs set to auto-lock, there was one weapon that  _could_ be safely removed. Its discovery was horrifying when Kao Lyn first found the array several weeks earlier. When he let Bellwood first strip Sazabi’s internals, he hadn’t expected the boy to encounter anything dangerous... though Bellwood wouldn’t have recognized the nodes even if Kao Lyn told him what to look for. The setup was innocent looking enough: if you scoured the surface walls of the Commander’s chassis, you could find cracked nodes linking to partially melted panels. They were placed strategically, and the one surviving wire that linked one of those nodes to the ruined engine block spoke volumes. When he first discovered the setup, Kao Lyn thought he thought he had found a series of emergency energy transformers. The build was too rough, though: there were no electrical dampeners that he could find. When he found the “switch” linked to the base of the souldrive chamber, it was clear that he had found a series of self-destruct sequencers. He kept the information to himself: no one needed to know they had a disarmed mini-nuke in their facility.

Building the Commander hadn’t been a labor of love at all. It had been one of pure  _malice._

“In case the Commander’s souldrive was ever compromised,” Kao Lyn echoed to himself, ignoring the stares from Watson and Bellwood. It was obvious that the self-destruct nodes were there in case the souldrive was compromised. It was powerful tech... ensuring its destruction was better than allowing it to fall into enemy hands. He remembered the fight on the Horn of War, how  _close_ Captain had been to crushing the souldrive himself and potentially setting off that bomb… he would have to dispose of the nodes during a more private session. Then it would be a matter of reworking that switch into something useful.

“I haven’t seen you this focused since you were building Captain,” Watson said. For once, the Ball sounded genuine. His usually nihilistic inflection was gone.

Which was true, and Kao Lyn felt it in his gut. It wasn’t that building Guneagle or the Gundiver septuplets was boring (they were each their own person and just as important as Captain), but Captain Gundam stood for something that extended beyond his own agency to live. He represented Neotopia’s survival, and the souldrive in his chest represented something even greater. Sazabi was the first robot they had found with  _another_ souldrive, an invention previously thought to be exclusive to Earth before the planet’s extinction.

(The note... he had forgotten all about it. Maybe it was time to dig the old safe box out.)

“Kao Lyn?”

He felt a sense of urgency wash over him. Following it was dread, then crippling anxiety. He remembered the note he had sitting in his safe at home, far from prying eyes regarding the one souldrive - the  _only_ souldrive - that was supposed to exist. The one that was now inside Captain Gundam and floating somewhere in the Minov. Kao Lyn moved on before he could let the thought consume him. He focused on making notes for the rest of the time, knowing that repairs would cause his mind to wander. He moved below Sazabi’s waist, shining a light inside the Commander’s uprooted internals. It was a... large distraction, to say the least. “The interface array will need repairs, but the most important parts are intact.”

“That still bothers me,” Bellwood said.

“His spike?”

The teen looked aghast.  _”No._ His  _processor.”_

“Oh. Right.” Kao Lyn pulled his hands out. The nursing shift would restart soon, and Kao Lyn didn’t like working while they were on duty. He felt like he intimidated them with his eccentricity. At least Bellwood and Watson were used to his behavior. “How so?”

“You said something about base programming.” The teen shrugged, but it wasn’t an apathetic gesture in nature. He looked worried. “You don’t agree that there’s enough space on that drive for more complicated tasks...”

“Yet the Commander was able to do… whatever he did. To that girl.” Watson rolled back on his treads. It was an apprehensive gesture for the Ball. “What does that mean?”

“Truthfully? I believe that it means the Commander  _moved_ everything at the last possible second.” Kao Lyn shifted his hands to the souldrive. “In the milliseconds before he struck the hill, he may have wirelessly found a way to shift everything in danger of being destroyed. Just like his body was tucked in a way to preserve the souldrive, his brain maneuvered itself into a position where it could be preserved, too. It explains why he was able to exploit Kelly’s mind, move, and speak in a way he should never have been able to. Not with his current processor. Not with one measly motherboard. What he  _had_ to keep, what  _couldn’t_  be moved, is on that board.”

Watson rumbled. The usually quiet Ball was strangely talkative today. “So if he was able to move everything else, where  _is it?”_

The souldrive was crystal clear, minus a few translucent specks floating within. Like dust floating in an abyss, a snow globe made with a diminishing smog. Sazabi’s souldrive had been a pitch-black maelstrom on his first day in captivity. Now it was warm to the touch, in a way that was secondary to freezing first: like going outside in the winter, coming into a warm house, and feeling an unpleasant tingling in your fingers. The flame flashed and arched towards his hand. Starved for attention. Desperate for acknowledgement.

Kao Lyn said nothing, and neither did Watson or Bellwood. The Ball rolled away. Bellwood left to attend to whatever second project he had in his own workshop. Kao Lyn was left alone with his own thoughts. Commander Sazabi’s equipment hitched.

“Do you have something to add?” Kao Lyn asked, but the Commander remained deathly silent.

**vii**

Tango and Renee had arrived at the appointment twenty minutes early, which was fine by Kao Lyn on all accounts. He was anxious to make headway with the Commander’s processor reconstruction. Tango must have been anxious too, if his demeanor was anything to go by. He was constantly bumping into Renee, like he couldn’t get  _close_ enough as they disembarked their gunperry and followed Kao Lyn (and the security detail, which made the poor mech even more anxious). Exploratory procedures on an unconscious mech was one thing, but Axians were so alien that putting Tango fully under was a risk that couldn’t be had. The mech was going to have to be awake for the time that Kao Lyn wanted to poke around his head. Renee was a constant beacon of support for the mech.

“Kao Lyn is a great guy,” Renee insisted. She touched Tango’s arm, which made one of the GM guards visibly flinch. “He was a huge robot rights activist back in the day! You can find all his old pictures from newspapers online. You can trust him.”

“Sorry,” Tango said, for the upteenth time in the last ten minutes, once they finally made it to the workshop. The Doga was already being locked into the apparatus that Kao Lyn had cobbled for him. It was a steel frame and refurbished platform-chair that would help keep him sat upright while his head was cracked open. “I know I’m behaving... badly. It’s just been a while since I was back here.”

“Tango, please rest assured no one is going to hurt you.” Kao Lyn was in the midst of a preliminary pre-meditation session. He started with a basic Shaolin pose and controlled his breath, moving his arms in an arc to channel his energies. Any full-blown, pre-surgical regiment usually involved more high-intensity exercises... but he didn’t think Tango would be able to handle it. The poor mech barely handled it when Renee stepped out of the garage to go to the bathroom. Captain and the others were used to his antics. Tango was still unadapted to living in a society that  _wasn’t_ the Dark Axis War Machine. Tango shut down on a conversational front the second Renee was gone, and he said nothing until she was back in his sights.

Cutting Tango open was easy. A controlled EMP charge on its lightest setting was enough to put the mech in a safe stupor, disabling any possible pain receptors. Renee, bless her, was nothing but comforting. Tango whimpered once when Kao Lyn made the first cut with his micro-saw, but it died out with his warden’s distraction. The makeshift entrance to reveal Tango’s processor was a hole curved with the arch of his head, exposing an extremely intricate

(familiar)

pathway of wires.

(This is your design.)

(This is almost  _exactly_ your design.)

(This processor looks like something you built with your own hands.)

Kao Lyn began noting the build, occasionally jotting notes into a datapad close by. The headset he wore photographed intermittently as he worked, and Watson was on standby with the scanning rig that took constant images of the mech’s processor past his rigid armor plates.

“I must thank you again for coming in on such short notice, Tango. Your contribution will surely help with giving me a better understanding of how Axian processors are built. With the data I gather here today, I’ll be able to rebuild the Commander’s brain with the accurate specifications unique to Axians. “Kao Lyn made sure to take his time, not wanting to rush the procedure. If he headed straight for the motherboards he  _really_  wanted to see, the mech would panic. Instead, he took it slow. He felt along the thinnest wires to different micro-computers, watched fans fire off, observed electric switches clocking back and forth in intervals...

“Do you really think so?” Tango’s voice was strangely small. The Dark Axis soldier wasn’t huge, but he wasn’t exactly a lightweight either. His weight was still more than Watson, Renee, and Kao Lyn combined. “I’m not a Commander class model.”

“You said yourself that Doga Bombers are just one build class away from matching stats with Commanders,” Renee said. She was smiling kindly, sitting in a roller chair across from Tango.

Tango whined. The apertures in his optic audibly clicked. “Yeah. And the Big Zam mobile suits were built as a class above the Gallop mobile armory. Just because nothing fits in the middle doesn’t mean it’s still not a massive leap.”

“We can improvise making a bridge.”

The Doga Bomber made a noise between a laugh and a whine. “Neotopia clearly improvises  _with a lot of things.”_

“I think we do a pretty good job at it.” Renee winked at him, or was it just a blink? Could you wink with only one eye? It looked pretty convincing, Kao Lyn thought.

Minutes into the operation, Kao Lyn found the beginnings of the main processor. Tango’s head was more oval shaped than Sazabi’s rounded finish, so it took a bit longer to find in the sea of cables. It was encased in a titanium cradle on springs, visibly designed to take heavy hits and remain functioning. Tango was absolutely built for war. A bundle of wires pushing towards the crown of the processor and back down seemed to connect to an obvious voice box. A small chip feeding into a micro-computer appeared to be a compact logic-center. A squared computer with hundreds of individualized switches looked to be a battle computer not unlike Captain’s (although Tango’s was notably larger, even with less refined connectors).

It wasn’t long before Kao Lyn came across what he was most anxious to find… or rather, he  _didn’t_ find. Where he was sure Tango should have had two distinct motherboards, he found only one, and unfortunately it was just as bland looking as the Commander’s. There were no signifying marks that made it stand out. He gently felt along its ridged metal grooves with a gloved hand, causing the mech to shudder.

“Can you tell me what this is for?”

“I’m not sure? I feel your servo, but my processor isn’t firing up otherwise.” Tango paused. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to be very useful. I’ve never exactly seen the inside of my own head.”

Kao Lyn debated getting a camera and hooking it up to the room projector to show him, but then he decided against it. He didn’t want to give the mech anything  _else_ to be anxious over. “We’ve been hearing about this mysterious Professor Gerbera for quite some time now. Is he the one that built you?”

“He didn’t build me  _specifically_. He designed my production line and the conveyer that put me together.” The apparatus holding Tango still rattled slightly. The poor mech had tried to shrug and shudder at the same time.

Kao Lyn wanted to ask about the Professor some more, but Tango’s processor was starting to light up. A series of lights flashed along the drive that made up his logic center. He made a mental note of it. A fear response? Was this an emotional cortex? If it was, it was unique for being housed outside the interior processor like in GMs and the Gundams. Learning more about the Dark Axis second-in-command would have to wait: he still had to learn about the mech under his knife. “I see. So you were rolled off a factory line?”

“All Dark Axis soldiers are, but if you prove yourself worthy you get let into Gerbera’s chopshop for...  _personalized_ reconstruction. He wipes your memory drives and turns you into a squadron leader, commando, or color guard agent depending on your skillsets and previous build class. We call it going to the Academy. It’s… terrifying. Sure, it’s an honor, but you don’t come out the same.”

“And Commander Sazabi?”

Tango’s logic center lit up like a Christmas tree. “Commanders are  _handcrafted._ They are unique and no part of them ever comes off a mass-produced assembly. The Professor builds them up from scratch and they can take  _years_ to construct. They’re perfect... but none more so than Commander Sazabi. He’s flawless.”

“You must look up to him,” Renee said. The woman had been quiet up until this point, but now she was scooting closer to him on her chair. Kao Lyn realized her hand hadn’t left his arm since the procedure started. The hand visibly squeezed down, her thumb stroking one of the hydraulic cables visible between the mustard armor plates.

Kao Lyn watched Tango’s processor. The logic center flashed fearfully once more... but then another section whirled to life, too. The single matching motherboard that Tango had in common with Sazabi  _blinked._ A pilot light flashed and stayed on for almost a full ten seconds before shutting back off. “No. You don’t look up at Commanders unless spoken to or in the process of delivering class-three status reports. Other Commanders can be more lenient, but Sazabi is ruthless. I’ve heard of mechs slaughtered despite total obedience. We all know what happened to Doga Grey.”

Renee squeezed his arm. Kao Lyn watched that pilot light flash red once more, pulsing strongly.

“Tango, perhaps you can still help me.” Kao Lyn continued moving through the Axian’s processor. The mystery of that board would have to wait. He still had work to do, but the mental image of that blinking red light clawed at his brain. “You said the Commanders are handcrafted. Would they have hardware that is unique to them? Something I wouldn’t find in  _your_ head?”

Once more, Tango’s logic center flashed to life. The mech tensed. His reply was a nervous twitter. “It’s called a the Psycommu System.”

“Psycommu System?” Kao Lyn used the mech’s distraction to delve further into his processor.

“It’s… a software program that runs off its own designated hardware. I don’t know what it looks like, but I don’t have it. It’s for Commanders and certain Komusai models only.”

Kao Lyn wracked his brain. What would Commander Sazabi and a Komusai have in common? Both the first and second-generation  _Magna Musai_ forward vessels had been destroyed. Nothing was left of the first Komusai blown to pieces off the northport docking district, and the second? After being blown out of the sky by Guneagle and thrashed by the Gundivers’  _Rainbow Seven Vortex,_ the Gundam Force found its remains washing up on a nearby beach. Nothing had been salvageable from the wreck, minus some very ugly yellow plates and a few cases of ammunition for guns they didn’t have.

And a single funnel, destroyed beyond reproof but recognizable by its bent gun barrel.

Kao Lyn felt his stomach knot. “It’s a control device for funnels?”

“Yeah. Well, _mostly._ Its main purpose is to control funnels for funnels, but the Psycommu System can be used to link to other external devices as well. It’s a common segway piece for the RAIMI System, which is used supplement the control a flagship like the  _Magna Musai_ and its Horn of War. That requires another AI because of how high-intensity controlling an entire ship can be, but smaller objects don’t need separate AI control them. A Commander’s Psycommu System is commonly used for funnels, but it can also be used to control proxies. Professor Gerbera used a similar Psycommu System to control Zako Red when… well. You remember.”

Kao Lyn wasn’t thinking about Zako Red. He treaded carefully. “It can be used to link the Commander with other people?”

The Doga Bomber rumbled. “No.  _That’s_ the Newtype Network. It’s a very specific program that links all Axians together, some more than others. How affected you are is determined by your chain of command. Commanders have full administrative control, and Zakos have the least. When a lead unit is killed, lower ranked units will feel it and respond accordingly.”

“That’s why all the Doga Bombers killed themselves when Sazabi took out Gerbera,” Renee said.

“And you?”

The Doga tried to offer another apprehensive shrug. The cage holding him in place rattled. “It appears that I’m… a unique case. I seem to have admin privileges on par with commander-class AI despite being a grunt. It’s either a bug or a distinct coding error.”

“But this Psycommu System is used for what sounds like remote hacking,” Kao Lyn said. “Could it be used for non-traditional relays?”

“It’s custom firmware designed by the most brilliant mech in the Dark Axis, so it’s possible.” In the rig setup that kept him upright, Kao Lyn could see that Tango was trying to tilt his head. “What counts as non-traditional?”

“Like a TV remote that turns on a toaster rather than the trash-horror channel?” Renee was smiling.

“Could it be used to control humans?” Kao Lyn paused, stopping at another random circuit board. He gently prodded it, which made Tango whine. “I’m sorry! Did that hurt?”

“No. No, I’m fine...” he tried to shake his head, but the braces continued to hold him motionless. “I… am not sure about its validity controlling humans. They are not machines, they are organic beings with non-compatible hardware.”

“The Commander has a souldrive, though.” Renee offered. She was still smiling, but her one eye had moved. She was looking at Kao Lyn dead in the face. The mechanic was catching on. “From all the stuff I saw on the news after the first invasion, Captain’s souldrive is supposed to be like a wireless adapter that connects humans and robots.”

“Sorry, I’m not familiar with souldrive tech at all. I didn’t even know the Commander  _had_ one until all those rumors started floating around back at the Doga roosts.”

“Rumors?”

“Other than the Commander had survived and was being held prisoner, that he and the mech that defeated him had identical hardware.”

Tango suddenly tensed. He shuddered and moaned quietly, causing the entire apparatus to shutter with him. Kao Lyn noted where the mech’s pleasure center was and moved on. “Thank you, Tango. All of this is going to help tremendously.”

The mech didn’t seem inclined to talk anymore, which was fine. Kao Lyn had been distracted enough. He took intricate notes and photographs of the mech’s processor, noting the exact build and structure before deciding that he had enough. Tango was starting to get antsy, too: the EMP was going to wear off soon, and Kao Lyn couldn’t risk giving him more jolts than necessary after what Thatcher did to him. He thanked the Doga Bomber for his time, then gave him one last burst to safely close him up. The Doga Bomber’s optic flashed white. Then he sagged in his restraint chair, knocked out cold. Kao Lyn put his processor back together, welding the backplate shut.

Kao Lyn noticed Renee’s hands lingering on Tango, knees, his arms, his hands… Her voice was soft when she broke the silence of the workshop, when the welding was done and the garage was silent once more. “Do you really think you can bring the Commander back?”

“I’m going to try my hardest.”

“Tango is terrified of Commander Sazabi, but I think he’s way more scared of the idea that he could die. Sazabi is one of the most powerful members of the Dark Axis. If someone like  _that_ can be killed, no one is safe.” Renee paused. “Unrelated, but thanks for everything you’ve done for both of us. I’ve only seen you in person a few times, but you’ve always been there for both of us when we need it.”

“No need to offer thanks, my dear. Your willingness to take on Tango has been a tremendous help to the Gundam Force!”

She nodded. Slowly, the smile on her face fell. “Do you really thing Axians can mind-control humans? You weren’t implying...”

“No! Of course not. Your willingness to help Tango was not an influence from him, I’m sure. He  _lacks_ access to the Psycommu System. I asked because the Commander’s own Psycommu System was destroyed.” Kao Lyn hesitated. Then he told Renee exactly what happened on the date a week earlier. With Kelly, with Reichold, with the Commander’s gibberish telepathy...

Renee didn’t flinch. Her face was set hard. “Tango definitely felt that. too. He woke up that same night  _screaming._ It took me more than an hour to calm him down, and he didn’t even know why he was acting the way he did. Sounds a lot like that Newtype Network is still working.”

Kao Lyn made a mental note to ask Miku if Doga Yellow had reacted the same way. “The Psycommu System is non-functional in the Commander, but something still allowed him to use it.”

“The souldrive?”

“When the Commander’s engine stopped and he died on the operating table, the souldrive brought him back. When the Commander was unable to defend himself from Reichold trying to turn him off for good, the souldrive reached out to the nearest human and used her the same way he would use the Psycommu System to control funnels. The souldrive is acting as a multi-utility device when none others work.”

“So if the Commander’s surviving motherboard can’t be used to control humans, and it’s not used for life support...” Renee made a face. “Then what _is_ it?”

“A mystery, for now. It may contain the Commander’s base programming.”

“A literal ghost in the machine,” Renee echoed.

Kao Lyn finished with Tango. He took apart the apparatus holding him up, and the mech slumped pathetically in place. His shark-like head lolled loosely and the contraption that held his jaw screwed shut popped open. His glossa partially slipped out. “He should be waking up soon.”

Renee nodded. “I think I -  _we_ \- need to ask for another favor from you, too. If that’s okay.”

“But of course!” Kao Lyn gathered up his equipment. “That would be…?”

“Private. Tango and I _both_ wanted to talk to you about it. I guess we can wait for him to wake up.”

“That might be awhile. I can have him moved and I can bring you out to a waiting lounge—”

“That’s okay. Uh, Tango didn’t react well to being moved and waking up in a strange place when your guys first moved him to the current safehouse. And I’d prefer to wait with him? He asked me to stay with him the whole time we were here. I don’t want to break a promise.”

Kao Lyn offered her a more comfortable looking seat, which she readily rolled next to Tango. She was probably going to be there for a while. The mech was still sitting upright in the rig set up for him, but the EMP charge had definitely taken it out of him. Kao Lyn went to leave with his findings, turning only to watch the two through the twin closing doors.

Renee had her forehead pressed to Tango’s. And Tango, despite barely starting to regain consciousness, had reached up to touch her arm.

Kao Lyn imagined that little red light ablaze in the darkness of the robot’s head.

**viii**

In light of the fall of capitalism, Atlus Industries was Neotopia’s oldest corporation. Founded in N.C. 0013, it was a manufacturing company that specialized in processing metals into heavy machinery. Those machines were then used to mine for more metal to start the process anew. When the humans aboard the Neos Orbital Station first began terraforming the area that would become Neotopia, the earliest incarnation of Atlus Industries (founded by Anton Atlus) helped develop the city foundation. In fact, a large mass of the city’s construction was  _credited_  to Atlus Industries.

Too bad Anton Atlus was a goddamn scumbag, and the worst of the lot that Neotopia had to offer. They were a paradise, but that didn’t mean they were without a few rotten apples.

Despite the slow burn protest of AI who insisted they were sapient, Atlus Industries was the first company to forcibly quash them. While other businesses ignored the “tantrums” as an error in the robots’ code, Atlus Industries went as far as to  _punish_ their robots. Longer work hours without recharge, dismantling and cannibalizing protesters for parts, leaving the worst sapient-claiming workers to rot in trash heaps before smelting them... all of it was done to try and reset whatever parameters were allowing them to simulate such  _human_ behavior. It was a nightmare for Neotopia’s workforce robots, and Atlus Industries had the city’s largest collection of AI-bound employees -  _slaves_. It would be another thirty-eight years before robots would win the right not to be sold or directly owned by other humans. Until then, so they were forced to live on the factory floors where they would work until being recycled or worse: Wiped.

In N.C. 0030, when Neotopia’s government was fully established and society was based around capitalist ideology, the newly established Peace Core was called in to stop a riot at one of Atlus Industries’ largest plants. The robots attempted a revolt. Those GMs not killed were repeatedly Wiped to the point of being comatose. Then they were scrapped regardless: the robots’ processors were too damaged to perform their tasks efficiently. As it turned out, a braindead worker was even  _less_ effective at following tasks than a rebellious one.

In N.C. 0060, Atlus Industries and other companies following their business model took a massive hit. Early robot rights cases were made and succeeded in court. The right to autonomy, to own possessions, and not to be sold or owned by humans was earned. This meant that the robots purchased by corporations suddenly  _weren’t_ , and they were free to leave the factories on their own recognizance. Those GMs brave enough to leave the only life they had ever known did so. Companies had to live with the fact that they couldn’t own their own workforce anymore, and capitalism crashed and burned.

By N.C. 0080, the resulting collapse of Neotopia’s short-lived mint led to Kim Jae-jin’s political-economic solution. An early idealist and lawmaker, Kim Jae-jin urged Neotopia to organize itself under moneyless-socialism. The protests of the corporations fearing the loss of physical revenue fell on deaf ears. Those unable to adapt went under... but Atlus Industries, desperate to hold onto its last vestiges of control, clung to the sides of its own six-foot grave and tried to climb back out. And they were willing to drag down every AI in Neotopia with them.

The company was still as garbage-laden as the man who founded it two hundred years earlier. Kao Lyn and the rest of the Steel Roses weren’t going to rest until they were _buried_ by their wrongdoings.

It was the morning of October fifth, N.C. 0253. Despite Neotopia pushing back  _another_ expansion initiative by thirty years (the human population simply wasn’t growing enough), Atlus Industries had obtained an old office building to serve as their new corporate headquarters. The building was once a GM reclamation center, used for housing and Wiping old AIs needing to be repurposed by their human owners. Robot rights activists had been protesting that the site be destroyed for years after Wipes were finally outlawed in N.C. 0230, but the mayor had been equally hard-pressed to keep the site untouched. It was a good building with a recent interior overhaul. Destroying it would be a waste of resources, regardless of the awful emotional scar it left on the city’s GM population.

To add insult to injury, Atlus Industries “purchased” the building knowing its full history. Knowing that  _they_ had been the ones to fully utilize such reclamation centers when they had their slave-robot workforce. While Neotopia’s capitalist-based money system had been dead for almost two centuries, the company was able to “earn” the building by filing the appropriate paperwork and spending part of their yearly allowed credits.

The grand opening was slated for eight in the morning, exactly on the hour. Preceding it would be an hour-long ceremony with speeches, a scholar-sponsorship nomination for a lucky student who participated in an essay contest, and announcements for future projects. The current owner of Atlus Industries, Spencer Atlus, would give a speech in front of a gathered audience… all of whom were pre-approved before being allowed into the reception area, of course. The Peace Core  _and_ an undisclosed private security company in plain-clothes would be there. The counter-protest had been pushed so far back that it wasn’t even in view of the building: it was an entire block down the street, barricaded by the Peace Core due to “riot” concerns posed by the Atlus CEO. Spencer wasn’t going to risk “whiny robot liberals” dampening his press report.

Which was fine. Because the Steel Roses had been inside the locked-down building since two nights before.

Chick overturned another server, slamming another bag of innocent flour down on the ground. To be honest, it was amazing no one heard him. He had been making a mess of the place like that all weekend. The bag exploded with a dull thud, bursting white powder through the air in a billowing shockwave. Chick was giddy with excitement. The GM’s visor flashed merrily as the cloud of white settled into a faint pale haze. “How much longer? My circuits are going on the fritz from waiting!”

“Three minutes, give or take when Spencey gets bored hearing himself talk.” Dawn Kidd said. The redhead was frowning. “You’re having a panic attack?”

“I’m  _excited!”_ The GM vibrated, going for another bag of flour. Their main supply had been drained two nights earlier, but Chick had brought his own stash, too.

“I think we made enough of a mess, bird brain.”

“Are you sure? I want to be sure Spencer shits himself.” Chick was already moving onto another last-second project, this time overturning more desks. A flick of his wrist, and the next burst of flour exploded across the ruined office space. The floors were caked in it. Spray paint and overturned desks were easy to clean, but it would be  _months_ before this office ever saw workers again. “I hope he’s wearing his brown pants.”

“Khakis, and they’re white.” Hatem Samaha, standing flush beside one of the second-floor bay windows, swore quietly. She adjusted her bandana as wayward powder puffed in her face. “Don’t make too much noise or churn up more of a cloud. Some of the private security is on the stage now. Hell, some of them might be trying to look  _in._ If you make something crash any louder, they’re gonna catch us.”

“And even if they did, they’re gonna spend months cleaning this place.” Chick went to move a previously overturned desk, deciding that it didn’t look quite messy enough. “Spencer Atlus is gonna look like an idiot no matter what.”

“I was hoping I could avoid jail for a few days,” Hatem mumbled. Outside, there was thunderous applause as Spencer Atlus said something inspiring to the idiot crowd. “And we want to be able to rush the stage in full view of the cameras. It won’t do us any good if they catch us now, send security in through the back, and Atlus makes up an excuse for the public why news crews can’t go inside for a grand-tour. They’ll cover this up so fast it’ll make our heads spin.”

“They’re gonna catch us anyways,” Tanita Devgan came down the back stairwell, totting with her a large backpack. She furiously adjusted her headscarf, a party of robots trailing behind her. “We have a problem. They increased security out the back window. I can’t drop the payload out to Doodle and Maple.”

Everyone reacted with various levels of disbelief. Some Steel Roses reacted with quiet stares, others in near shouts. Hatem was quick to hush everyone down with a frantic wave of her hand, but thunderous applause outside thankfully masked any sound. The sponsored scholarship student had been announced. A select few of Steel Roses didn’t act surprised at all: veterans especially. They had learned to expect the unexpected. Leave it to Atlus to change up their security measures at the last second to make things harder. They must have been expecting them despite the heightened security blocking off the protestors down the street. At the very least, their reputation preceded them.

Kao Lyn finally reacted. He stood up from the desk he was still seated at: one of the last ones that hadn’t been overturned by Chick in the past hour. The desk was caked in flour and the corner had been chipped by the fire-axe Heatspot had brought with him, but the computer remained functional and lit. His fingers were itching to keep typing. “You didn’t message them, did you?”

“No, and they know to keep quiet.”

“Why is that?” Chick asked.

“Because it means Atlus’ private security firm could find out we’re in here,” Kao Lyn said. He sat back down, going back to typing. He kept digging for last minute documents that he could find, anything that they might have missed to use against Atlus Industries... “I’m already putting the finishing touches on Plan B.”

“Good work, but it’s not going to help if Atlus Industries’ tech support finds a way to scrub the data off the internet. Once it’s up, it might only be available for a few minutes. It’s a short-term solution to get the information out there. We  _need_ the physical files too, and they need to be run out of this place by someone who won’t get caught.” Tanita marched over to the desk, putting the heavy backpack down.

They had been smart enough to scan all the available documents on site into flash carts, and the bag heaved with the weight of them. While the digital and paper copies left in the office had been destroyed (smeared with flour, thick paint, or permanently scrubbed from the hard drives with Kao Lyn’s programming know-how), they still had to get the copies they made _out_ of the building. The physical building had been made a mess of, but Atlus Industries was plenty capable of cramming  _dirt_ into their own data. Discriminating against potential robot hires for administrative positions, then illegally altering their own employment data to be up to code with city mandate... according to the documents they found, they were purposely outsourcing bids for vendor work from robots, then placing them in dangerous situations they wouldn’t want to risk humans for. They were violating a multitude of robot-welfare laws, ignoring dozens of business regulations  _in_ writing...

Oh. And they were taking illegal bribes from the current mayor in the form of retired bills, a popular source of revenue in the underground market

Spencer Atlus was going to have a very,  _very_ bad day when all this shit got out. Assuming they actually got the information out to the people who needed to see it.

Kao Lyn looked at the bag, then back and Tanika.

Another Steel Rose, a secretarial-class GM named Pepper, looked horrified. “The second they see Kao Lyn, they’ll be all over him! He’s already violating two house arrest orders! If they catch him with those files, all of this would have been for nothing  _and_ we lose our ace in the hole!”

Tanika nodded, although even she was frowning:  _she_ didn’t like the idea either, but... “He’s the only one fast enough to get away without being caught. We  _need_ these files. Our correspondent is the only one with enough leverage away from the Steel Roses to get this out without risking being taken down.”

More Steel Roses came down from the stairwell. Maeva Auclair led the main body of Rose emblem clad GMs and a handful of other humans. “We did a final sweep of all the floors. Second team is downstairs ready to storm out. We’re ready to roll when the signal is good.”

“This is killing me. Why don’t we go  _now?”_ Heatspot, the firefighter GM, revved his engine rearing to go.

“We have to wait for the ribbon cutting,” Chick said.

“Why?”

“ _Presentation._ ”

“It’s almost time for the ribbon cutting. Get into position!”

Applause rose up from the rally outside, and Kao Lyn cut his losses. There wasn’t anything else worth bleeding from the Atlus servers, and it was only a matter of time before he would have been found out anyways. He keyed in the timer to release the data they acquired on the public internet. In a matter of thirty seconds, every ounce of filth they had dragged out of the computers over the weekend would appear on newsfeeds on social media and hijacked news outlet pages. How long his spoofing would last depended on how clever the Atlus computer-geeks were. At the very least, the information would be available for three or five minutes: more if his spoofing bug was any good at giving them the runaround. He unplugged his SD flashcart, kicked the computer down off the desk with a well-placed round kick, and watched the monitor get dragged down with it. The touch screen shattered, spilling glass like glitter across a sea of flour snow. The bag was heavy as he threw it over his shoulder. He tightened the straps and limbered up.

“We’re counting on you again,” Tanika said to him quietly, touching his arm and pulling him to the side. “I’m glad we found an ally in you.”

In the rally below, the crowd continued to swell with enthusiasm. The roar was almost deafening, rattling the windows. As Spencer finished whatever momentous bullshit speech his writers conjured for him, the former president of Atlus Industries came onto the stage. A final round of thunderous applause followed. Ingrid Atlus was received by her son with open arms. Kao Lyn could see her through the window as he drew closer, flanked by security and a senior member of the Peace Core. An aide off to the side passed her an oriental pair of scissors, and she approached the ribbon fencing off the front steps.

“It is with great pleasure that we reopen this historic building,” Ingrid Atlus said. Her elderly voice shook but beamed with a tone of  _hopefulness_ that made Kao Lyn furious. “To build an even greater Neotopia! To build a better world for humanity!”

She cut the ribbon.

Kao Lyn heard the commotion before he saw the first Steel Roses rush onto the stage. As soon as the ribbon was cut  and the audience began to applaud, the downstairs lobby doors crashed open with a tremendous crash. The forward blow was made with enough force to send wood and metal splintering through the air. The first line of Roses rushed out and peeled into the crowd, throwing down firecrackers, flour, and vibrant color bombs. A sparkle of someone hurling glitter from a makeshift canon followed, raining down on the press with the cheerfulness of confetti. Those unable to escape through the door took to the windows to smash their way out. The chaos was immediate: cameras were flashing with increased frequency, the crowd squealed in confusion, and Spencer Atlus was howling curses that would make the news as fast as the Steel Roses’ latest “terrorist” stint.

Tanika shrieked. Her battle cry was a rallying, resonant boom. “Now!”

A retired factory GM with the  _thickest_ chasis Kao Lyn had ever seen on a mech, Euros, hurled himself at the reinforced glass and ended up on the stone awning. Heatspot shoved his way through next, clearing the glass so the human Roses wouldn’t hurt themselves on the way out. The rest of the activists piled out behind him, Kao Lyn included. Temple and Hamilton were already unfurling a large protest banner.  _DEMOLISH SLAVE-ERA BUILDINGS! SHAME ON YOU, ATLUS!_

Tanita nudged Kao Lyn. “We’ll distract them from up here! Chick, cover Kao Lyn! Go!”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and neither did Chick. Cackling like a madman, the GM hurled himself over the side of the awning and ended up landing on top of the Ingrid Atlus’ limousine. The car’s roof buckled like cheap aluminum under his weight as he went ahead and started hurling flour. Kao Lyn followed him down, using the banner as cover. As Chick leapt into the sea of security guards swarming around the limousine, he darted to the edge of the awning and saw the closest parked media van next to it: marked Colony News Reporting, still relatively new. He launched himself off the second story awning and landed on the top of the roof. His boots left an indent in the white metal. While his weight wasn’t enough to permanently damage the vehicle, the car horn went off furiously. The security guards and Peace Core officers struggling to contain Chick shifted their attention to Kao Lyn.

Spencer was swearing over the loudspeaker. His face was bright red. “ARREST ALL OF THEM!”

Chick howled, already peeling away into the confused crowd. “RUN KAO LYN!  _RUN!”_

Kao Lyn vaulted off the top of the van onto the top of a Peace Core cruiser. Thankfully they had all been stupid enough to park all their vehicles close together. The sirens immediately went off, red and blue lights flashing in strobes as he played hopscotch across a path of sedans. The Peace Core couldn’t get past their own barricades to stop him, and the one security guard close enough to him missed his leg as he jumped up to try and grab him. Cheers rose up from the Steel Roses back at the ruined office building.

When he came to the end of the line of cars, he leapt down and disappeared into the crowd.

**ix**

The Anne Droid Nightclub and Bar was a relatively new institution in the Backlot. The bar itself had been there for over a hundred years, but its newest owner had converted it into a robot friendly establishment in the last decade. The Backlot itself was a quiet little nook in Neotopia where the buildings never quite let enough sun through, with narrow alleys and hidden shops. Hard as it might have been to believe, the dark corridors used to be a popular shopping spot. They offered great protection from sandstorms when the colony was still being terraformed and the atmosphere weather modules were still inactive. When the city was built up the storefronts were delegated to private storage rentals, but some people remained savvy enough to utilize the space for business. One such business was, of course, the Anne Droid Nightclub and Bar. Anne was  _mostly_ well-behaved when it came to giving her place a low profile but she was built like concrete pillar... and she had the kind of demeanor that made Kao Lyn think she could crush a man’s skull between her thighs and not think twice about it.

“Tempting,” she said to him once, when he pointed it out. Her grin was wicked. “I’d hate to end up on house arrest for assault, though. Who else would run this fun little shithole?”

Kao Lyn took the back entrance into the bar, which was even more out of the way than the  _front_ entrance. It was a good call too. As he peered down from the roof of the adjacent low-rise apartment building, he could see a Peace Core cruiser parked outside the alleyway. They were waiting for him. The back entrance was on the opposite side of the building, which required the hijacking of a private fire escape and a strategic ten foot drop into a dumpster. Then he had to key the lock with his pocket knife.

“You could have knocked,” Anne said, waiting by the door when he finally got it open. Her arms were crossed in judgement, but she was grinning like the cat who ate part of the canary— and then gave the remaining half to their owner.

“You could have let me in,” Kao Lyn frowned. “Do you  _always_ watch your door when someone is breaking in?”

“I was hoping it’d be the health inspector. He’s been on my ass about having motor oil and antifreeze in the kitchen. Robots gotta have decent drinks too, right?” She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. “Your buddies are looking for you. They thought the Peace Core snatched your ass.”

“Sorry. I had a college class to catch.”

The bar was two floors, with a main floor and a subterranean level that wasn’t openly advertised. It made it the perfect hiding spot: Peace Core  _knew_ the Anne Droid was a popular Steel Rose hangout, but the layout of the building’s front bar made it too confusing for them to put the proper effort in. They couldn’t just shut the business down. Not when the owner cooperated in every way she could (minus the health inspections, of course).

As expected, many of the Roses hadn’t made it. Tanika was nowhere to be seen when he went down the stairs into the crowded basement. Many people were still covered in powder residue, but others look freshly showered and were dressed down in civilian clothes.

A GM rushed Kao Lyn as soon as he spotted him. Yaaz was a retail painted GM, adorned with the UC Mart logo and colors. While robots could no longer be directly owned by businesses, there was nothing against permanently branding their employees. That was going to have to be stopped too, but Atlus Industries was their big fish in the meantime. Yass immediately embraced him and vibrated, crying. “Holy shit, babe, we thought the Core got you!”

Kao Lyn kissed him on the side of the head, then below the visor.

“Where’s the backpack?” That was an older Steel Rose, Sarge. The maroon automotive-assembly GM looked horrified. “Did you—?”

“I dropped it off to the contact as soon as I cleared the blockades. Left it under her car. Then I spent some time in a college classroom giving a lecture, ran from the Core, and hid in a tree in Peace Park for a few hours. “ Kao Lyn kissed his boyfriend again, holding his hand up for the bartender. “Vodka?”

“Of course you did.” The bartender, a grumpy looking GM with a visor mod, was already pouring the drink. “It’s two in the afternoon,”

“It’s five ‘o clock somewhere.”

“No it’s not.” She slid him the drink.

Kao Lyn finished it in one sitting. His face flushed but  _damn_ if he didn’t need it. “So how was Spencey?”

“I think he broke the record for most swears dropped on live television. Including two f-bombs and a tastefully placed c-word directed at Tanika. Both NNN and CNR are ripping him new ones for that. Almost takes the attention off the ruined reclamation building... and the part where Chick slapped a glitter bomb in his face before peeling off somewhere.” Loko was a handyman model, built on treads and made to be a maintenance-class robot. His optics flashed as he spoke. “Tanika was arrested. So were a lot of others on the second floor, minus you and Chick. Everyone here from the raid is presumably everyone who made it.”

“Neotopia isn’t going to be lenient with releasing people on their own cognizance this time. Tanika might be on house arrest and community service for the next few  _years_ for this,” Yaaz said.

“We got what we wanted. We all knew the risks when we joined,” Kao Lyn motioned for another drink, which he received. Vodka and soda this time, which meant Yaaz had already told the bartender what he preferred. Despite being missing all morning, the GM never lost faith in him. “The Steel Roses don’t have a single leader. We rely on each other equally. We may rally behind a prominent person, but if that person is taken out of the fight? Our biggest strength is that someone is ready to fill their place. We’re not doing this for ourselves. We’re doing this for the robots of Neotopia who deserve better.”

That was when Professor Kaiser sat down next to him and ordered a spiced rum punch. Kao Lyn almost  _yelled._

“Eloquently said,” she announced dryly. “But screaming isn’t polite.”

“How long have you  _been_ here?” Kao Lyn asked when his heart rate finally decelerated. Hurdling off a second floor balcony was no issue, but the second  _Kaiser_ snuck up on him? He felt like his chest was going to explode.

“Ten minutes. I’m surprised I beat you here.” She looked over her shoulder at him. She sipped at her drink. “Now that you’re done hiding for now, I suppose I can give you the good news.”

“For now?” Kao Lyn cocked his head. “That sounded threatening.”

“There's a  _big_ warrant out for your arrest,” Yaaz said. The quiet GM’s voice was sad sounding. “The protest was  _huge_ , but you making your grand getaway was a highlight. They keep replaying it on the TV and clips are sprouting all over the internet. It it wasn’t for you getting all those drives to Kaiser,  _you’d_ be the biggest thing on the news right now.”

“So you were able to get the drives to people who could use them?” As tickled as Kao Lyn was to know that he was getting popular on the news  _again_ , the implication was clear. “Atlus Industries was exposed for all the bullshit?”

“The mayor is already trying to distance himself from Spencer Atlus and his affiliates. We could expect a resignation as early as next month when the credit offices comb through his financials and see the allowance discrepancies. It’s all fun and games until you get caught using retired bills to bribe corporations.” Kaiser sipped at her rum again, then motioned for the waiter to take her credit confirmation. “Spencer Atlus is in an even worse position, but you’re right. Kao Lyn has been as popular on television as the Atlus filth you uncovered.”

“Explains why I got chased off campus this morning.” Kao Lyn mumbled. “Spencer can eat shit.”

“Campus?” Yaaz looked perplexed.

Kaiser scoffed. “Your rambunctious boyfriend spoke to some of my psychology students this morning. An intelligent class, but not particularly  _smart.”_

“There’s a difference?”

Kaiser just  _looked_ at Yaaz. The poor GM shrunk back with an obedient whine. It was nice to know that Kaiser could intimidate  _anyone_ , not just her students.

“Regardless, you will be pleased to know that the information you gathered got in the correct hands. That  _present_ you left under my car was more than enough to raise some eyebrows when my political contacts got their hands on it. The information has been circulating for hours now, on too many webpages and servers for Spencer Atlus’ tech team to take down before it gets passed around.”

“And?”

“Spencer is expected to announce his resignation tonight.”

“Fucking fantastic.”

The Roses milled in the bar for the rest of the day, bleeding into the evening as they continued to follow up leads on their missing allies. Less than forty of them had been arrested. In hindsight, it looked like a significant loss, but there had been over a hundred of them holed inside the building when they all broke in the Friday before. Tanika was confirmed as a legitimate casualty, though. She would be out of the picture for a while, and the only way she was able to let them know about her condition was straight through the jailhouse where she was being held. One of their few Peace Core contacts was able to let them know she was okay. Kaiser had finished her drink hours before, but made to leave after quietly grading papers in the back corner of the bar.

“You’re a good man, Kao Lyn,” she said to him as she hauled her datapad back into her satchel. “I’m glad I recruited you for this. You’re excellent at what you do and an inspiration to these people.”

“Better be careful,” Kao Lyn said. “If I had a recorder on me...”

“Oh please. Even if you sent a recording of me praising someone to my students, they still wouldn’t believe it. I’ve had my reputation for  _decades_ now.” Kaiser rolled her eyes. “Take my brief sensitivity at face value and feel fortunate enough to have gotten  _that_ much. You’re still a delinquent.”

“You sure you won’t get in trouble for helping us like this?”

“I’ve been a Rose longer than you’ve been alive. After my husband passed away, this is all I’ve known beyond teaching. Old dogs can’t learn new tricks, but we can improve on the skill sets we’ve already cultivated with vigor.” She pulled on her coat and went out through the front entrance. Kao Lyn followed her with quiet subtlety. The Peace Core cruiser staking the Backlot entrance was gone, replaced with a parked taxi cab. Kaiser waved the shy-looking robot attendee down and he popped out to open the door for her. “I hope you continue to use your smarts for good. The world is what we make of it. I hope you and other young people strive to make it a good one.”

Kaiser’s cab left quietly into the night, and Kao Lyn stood on the curb to watch her go.

_Make it a good one._

**x**

Commander Sazabi’s surviving funnel turned back on.

It was a quiet Sunday night, broaching on eleven at night. Neither Kao Lyn or Bellwood had taken a break since lunch: rice balls and a baked salmon dish that Juli’s wife had been kind enough to prepare for them. Work on the Commander’s new processor was slow coming. The problem that kept them there so  _late_ wasn’t the difficulty of the process itself. In fact, with Tango’s scans and Kao Lyn’s personal notes on hand, the actual assembly was relatively easy. It was finding the parts that would pass Kao Lyn’s quality inspections that was hard. The pieces had to be custom made, just the same as when the Gundams were being build. Guneagle needed custom engine calibrators to make him properly airborne while still being modular, the Gundivers needed flood-resistant pieces to keep their engines from drowning, Captain needed reinforced buffer plates to keep his souldrive from burning a hole in his chassis... but whereas they had months to prepare and order the parts in advance, the task of rebuilding Sazabi was being expedited. They were trying to get the parts  _weeks_ in advance, many of which arrived in the wrong order.

“Building the Gundivers was more organized than this,” Bellwood complained, “and there were  _seven_ of them.”

“Count your blessings,” Kao Lyn said. “At least we’re not rebuilding seven Sazabis.”

“If there _were_ seven of them...” Bellwood shuddered, not wanting to finish the thought. Kao Lyn couldn’t blame him. It was bad enough to learn from Tango during his original interrogation that there  _were_ multiple Commanders in the Dark Axis. He soldered another piece to the motherboard he was working on: identical to the aforementioned Doga Bomber, with Gundanium fillings and triple the number of switches to compensate. He was working blind, but at least he had the one surviving board in the Commander and Bellwood’s experience working with the safety bolt mechanisms to work from. The teen must have read his mind. “At least I know enough about the Axians from installing the security locks. It didn’t require me to know much about how intricate their processors are, but it’s better than nothing...”

While a security device had never been installed in Zapper (a decision that was made too hastily, current circumstances given), Sazabi, Doga Yellow, and Tango each had one. Sazabi’s was destroyed during his crash, but the other two were still active. It connected with the user’s battle computer via an electric-sensitive sensor that interpreted violent wavelengths as a signal to shut down the affected robot’s motor functions. It worked great in theory, but there were still bugs: as they had all learned, the security bolt only interpreted signals that that were  _violent_ in nature. A user attempting to defend themselves (Doga Yellow) or defend another person from harm (Tango) would remain unaffected... hence the reason why Doga Yellow never shut down during the SWAT raid on Miku’s home, or why Tango didn’t lock up when he threw Dr. Walker across Renee’s front lawn like an overweight tennis ball.

“At least I sort of remember what Sazabi’s battle computer looked like when I was first installing the lock.” Bellwood frowned. “Too bad I didn’t take pictures  _then.”_

“It wouldn’t have been ethical to do so,” Kao Lyn said. “That’s why I _didn’t_ have you take pictures or otherwise write anything down. The surgery was already against his will. Photographing the inside of his head would have violated him even more.”

“I know that was your choice, but you gotta admit it would have helped us a lot _now.”_

“We roll with the punches as they come. Not before.” Kao Lyn frowned, reaching to grab a small soddering pen. The copper connector he was using to fuse a conductor to the Commander’s new logic center wasn’t attaching correctly. “What we have now is sufficient. With the right amount of creativity, we could build it even better than original!”

 _“You_ could. I’m just here for the ride.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Bellwood. I chose you as my apprentice for a reason.”

“Yeah, yeah, I still owe you for that one.”

Bellwood certainly had a point, even if Kao Lyn would never admit it out loud. The Dark Axis technology they had seen was developed beyond his wildest imaginations, similar to his own designs as it might have been. The chemical processes behind petrifaction, the strange techno-organic material that made up the Horn of War, the Axians themselves... it was like something out of a science fiction nightmare. Mimicking or replicating it was a long shot, even  _with_ the proper referrals. Tango’s processor was the best reference they had, and in the mech’s own words, he was still far from command-tier. They had to get this right the first time around and the pressure was on tenfold. Anything they built, if it wasn’t good enough, would either cause the Commander to go insane or not function whatsoever.

They had come too far to fail.

Bellwood groaned miserably. Then, a few minutes later, he set down the microprocessor he was working on. “I’m so tired, I’m starting to see double. I just tried to wire this chip into  _itself.”_

“You can go home and get some rest,” Kao Lyn offered. “I’ll hold down the fort.”

“And leave you here alone? You’ve pulled so much weight on this project, it wouldn’t be fair. Hell,  _none_ of this is fair. Sazabi saved Shute’s mom and sister. Then he stopped Gerbera from doing whatever else he had planned for Neotopia. Man, I have had  _enough_ of this unfair shit to last me a lifetime. All this getting shot at and people being hurt. I don’t know how Captain deals with it. Heck, I don’t know how  _Shute_ deals with it.” Bellwood put down the pliers and switchboard he was working with. “Speaking of shooting, we’re not. Really. Going to reinstall of Commander Sazabi’s weapons, right?”

“We don’t have a choice.” Kao Lyn finished with his own switchboard, moving onto another section of preassembled processor. All of the pieces they had so far were labeled accordingly to make the process easier, but the man frowned when he saw the list on the attached tag. They were still missing parts: a Gundanium filled tesla coil and fuses. He set the parts down and went fishing for the roughly assembled battle computer he  _knew_ they had pieces for. “The Dark Axis built Sazabi with his weapons integrated into his body. Taking them out was a temporary solution, but it’s inhumane to disable him like that when he was  _built_  that way.”

“He was built with a self-destruct array, and you removed  _that.”_

“That was different.” Kao Lyn looked up and frowned. “The explosive nodes that I found weren’t hooked up to his processor. It wouldn’t  _hurt him_ to remove them.”

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he said.

That was the moment one of Kao Lyn’s storage lockers began to  _thrash._ It banged once, twice, then a third time with enough force to rattle the second and third locker next to it. The entire container rocked forward and back with the momentum of a gunshot. Bellwood screamed and jumped to his feet, but at least he had the presence of mind to put the processor part he was working on back on the table. Kao Lyn stood up as well, knocking his chair back and staring at the locker. He wracked his brain trying to figure out what had accidentally turned on  _this_ time.

“Speaking of which,” Bellwood said, his voice shallow. “What the flying hell was  _that?”_

The locker did not live up to its name for long. The entire thing rocked forward and back again. The momentum of whatever was inside (and Kao Lyn was too shocked by the unexpected banging to  _remember_ what was in there) was increasing with an impression of rising urgency. A dent appeared in the side. Then another.

 _“Kao Lyn.”_ Bellwood took a step back. He raised his hands in defense.

The door gave way.

The quiet evening was ruined with a high-pitched whine as micro-antigrav thrusters sprang to life. The bright red  _thing,_ now free from its darkened prison, rocketed into the workshop airspace. An electronic scream emanated from its football sized frame as it shot up into the air. It smacked into an overhanging fluorescent light before bouncing down and ramming into a standing toolkit. The light flailed. Wild shadows on the wall and occasionally illuminated the red monstrosity as it kept ricocheting off objects and walls.

Bellwood screamed and ducked. “KAO LYN, DO SOMETHING!”

“Like _what!?”_ Kao Lyn made to take cover, but terror seized him: the equipment on the table. If the thing were to suddenly divert its course and come crashing down, hours of work would be lost. Kao Lyn did the only sensible thing he could think of: he threw his body over the fragile pieces to shield them with his own body. He looked up in time to see the mystery shape finally illuminated. Bright red and a sleek build that once complimented its sister units and designated master...

Kao Lyn finally remembered where he had stored Commander Sazabi’s surviving funnel.

Watson reappeared. The Ball had left hours earlier with the intent to recharge, but the commotion had clearly woken him up. With deadly accuracy Kao Lyn never would have thought possible for him, he pivoted on his treads, accelerated, and used the momentum to toss a blanket up into the funnel’s flight path. The Commander’s equipment plummeted like a stone, crashing into the ground and continuing to thrash.

Watson didn’t look impressed. “I leave the room for less than an hour and  _this_ is the trouble humans get into. Honestly. I’m appalled.”

“WHY DO YOU  _HAVE_ THAT!?” Bellwood had clamored onto a nearby table, his eyes glued to that sheet. “I thought those things were destroyed!”

“Not all of them.” Kao Lyn approached slowly. The funnel had stopped thrashing and was vibrating instead, rattling its frame on the workshop floor like a jackhammer. The funnel had been completely unresponsive when it was retrieved from the wreckage of the Horn of War, and Kao Lyn had ended up with it between Sazabi’s time at Robo House and his relocation to house arrest. The funnel was written off as a dud, too seriously damaged after the battle with Captain Gundam to properly reactivate. Kao Lyn had shoved it into a storage locker to look at later. After everything that had happened, he just... sort of forgot it was there.

He remembered what Tango said, about the funnels being remote controlled. But Sazabi was non-functional. Why was it  _on?_

He tentatively lifted the blanket.

At first, the funnel didn’t move. It lay there on the ground, its internals still whirling fast and the pilot light inside its thruster still alight. A distinct buzzing came from within the device. Its propulsion system and basic running program were still online despite the blunt trauma. Slowly its panels flexed, as if it were a bird testing its wings. It began to float back up.

“Be  _careful!”_ Bellwood hissed.

The funnel made no indication that it was going to go haywire again. Kao Lyn was worried that it might have damaged itself in the fall. It floated up to eye-level and hovered there for a few seconds, panels flexing and running through a kind of test-sequence. The nozzle extended and retreated, the gun barrel audibly clicking its safety on and off again. Its hover rose to an even three, four, five feet into the air. It gently turned and made its way towards the door. It bumped into it repeatedly.

Bellwood looked aghast. “Can that thing  _see?”_

Kao Lyn didn’t answer. He walked over and set his hand on the adjacent sensor panel. The scanner read his print and opened the door.

The funnel knew  _exactly_ where it wanted to go. Much more “calmly,” it hovered down several long corridors on its way to its destination. Kao Lyn made sure to stick close behind, shooting off apologies to every terrified person they passed. Bellwood followed with Watson rolling in tow. The funnel occasionally bumped into walls as it struggled to maintain its flight path, although Kao Lyn suspected it was an error of its navigational systems being shot. It may have survived the battle on the Horn of War, but it  _had_ been out of commission for several months. Kao Lyn didn’t even think it was still active.

He heard Bellwood whimper in terror behind him when it came to a stop in front of a familiar room, repeatedly knocking its front nozzle on the door until it was let inside.

The funnel floated obediently above Sazabi, already marking an invisible patrol pattern.

“So,” Bellwood muttered in terror, but didn’t say anything else. The funnel had already begun its third lap above the Commander.

**xi**

Kao Lyn barely finished knocking when a woman answered the door, but not the woman he expected. Much too old and smelling a little  _too_ strongly of perfume, she looked down at him and immediately frowned. “Hello? Can I help you?”

“This is the Ray-Abe residence, isn’t it?”

She stared at him. “Abe?”

“I’m looking for Keiko Ray.”

“Oh, yes, that makes sense.” The woman continued to scan him up and down, almost looking personally offended. “And  _you_ are?”

If the luxurious house on the hill had ever been in danger of burning to the ground, it certainly didn’t show it. Aside from the lingering smell of paint fumes and wood finish, nothing remained to indicate that this had been a construction zone. New grass had been laid down where construction vehicles would have trampled the lawn, the smell of new mulch filled his nostrils, new pavers had been placed where Sazabi bursting through the side of the house would have—

“Ma?”  _That_ was a familiar voice. Markus Ray came around the corner and immediately spotted Kao Lyn. The man yelped and immediately came bounding over. “Heeey, Chief Kao Lyn! Nice to see you!”

“Markus? You  _know_ this man?” The way the woman said it made Kao Lyn think that she  _did_ know him. Maybe she did: they were probably around the same age. She would have been old enough to remember the Steel Roses— and him.

“Yeah, he’s one of the guys working on fixing Sazabi.”

 _“Chief Haro_ wanted me to swing by this afternoon,” Kao Lyn said. “I hope I’m not intruding!”

It was too much for Mark’s mother to handle. Between his own name drop, bringing up Commander Sazabi, and mentioning Chief Haro? The woman looked like a fish that had been dragged out of the lake and slapped on the back deck of a fisherman’s boat. “Well, we most certainly did  _not_ invite—”

“Yeah, come on in!” Mark wasn’t particularly subtle in the way he maneuvered around his mother, using his height to his advantage as he eased her out of his path. He opened the door for a proper entrance. Pamela Ray, not wanting to get in the way, shuffled aside. “You wanted to talk to Keiko about Sazabi?”

“Is something wrong?” Pamela Ray looked flustered. “Chief Haro wouldn’t be interrupting a home cooked meal if it weren’t  _important_ , I hope.”

“Nothing is wrong, but it certainly is important!” Kao Lyn removed his shoes and left them to the left of the doorway. Pamela kept frowning at him. “Keiko is home?”

“Upstairs in Sazabi’s room. Last door to the left. Can’t miss it.” Mark grinned at him and put his shoulder around his mother: an attempt to either restrain or comfort, but Kao Lyn wasn’t sure which. “You gonna stay for dinner?”

Pamela looked ready to object. Ah. It  _was_ to restrain. Kao Lyn heartily agreed, then watched as the disgruntled Chief of the Super Dimensional Guard half-escorted, half-dragged his mother away.

The interior of the Ray household looked as untouched by disaster as the exterior. Aside from the smell of new construction and a  _very_ faint hint of smoke, there was no indication that a fire had been there at all. Why the senior Rays felt the need to be there was incidental: maybe they thought their son needed some extra help moving back in. Kao Lyn had heard some obscure horror stories from Chief Haro about his mother in particular. Kao Lyn made his way upstairs, taking into account how the walls looked recently painted. The fire hadn’t spread  _this_ far, had it? The reason for the update was clear as cleared the top floor and looked back down. The staircase had been widened. So had the upstairs hallway. Certain areas on the ceiling had been spot painted, too. Repeated trauma from a too-tall object wandering its halls  _would_ cause damage.

If Keiko could have raised the ceiling, he knew definitely would have.

Sazabi’s room looked like it had been lived in by a horse. Which was plenty accurate, if you accounted for the fact he was horse sized. It was different from the last time Kao Lyn had seen it. Keiko had sent him pictures of the space just before they received the Commander, which had a large mattress, a bedside table, and a lamp. The lamp was snapped in two and propped in the corner, abandoned, alongside a propped bed frame turned on its side.

Keiko Ray was sitting down on the crushed mattress beneath the room’s only window.

“I wondered where all my throws and guest room blankets were ending up,” she said, halfheartedly propping up an abused looking pillow. A few stray feathers were bleeding out of several neat puncture holes. “Sometimes I like to come up to get some peace and quiet,” she admitted. “I miss him.”

“I’m sure you do, my dear. We’re doing everything we can.” Kao Lyn sat down next to her. Across the way, little Nanako Ray was sitting in a collection of throws and waving around a red stuffed animal. A tyrannosaurus? “I wanted to talk to you in person about the Commander.”

“He’s not doing well?” Keiko’s voice was quiet.

“On the contrary, he’s doing…  _very_ well.” Kao Lyn looked up at her. “Have you ever noticed anything strange?”

“No?” She looked at him. Her eyes reminded him of Professor Kaiser all those years ago. Quiet, but also equally fearsome. “What do you mean?”

“We had an incident involving the Commander last week. One of his souldrive activations.”

“You mean the scary one.” Keiko nodded. “I remember. I got a call, but my phone was on silent. Pam or George may have turned it off. It was actually very lucky that Nana woke me up screaming, otherwise I never would have seen it going off.”

His question was already partially answered. Kao Lyn watched Nanako throw her toy and squeal, diligently crawling after it. “Sazabi remotely controlled one of the nurses to attack one of the doctors.”

Keiko stared at him.

“Last night, he turned on one of his funnels and it’s been guarding him in his hospital room.”

“What are you saying.” It wasn’t a question. Keiko was watching him with an unreadable expression, but she didn’t look  _upset._ It was the kind of expression Kao Lyn imagined someone would have when they were involved in a car accident, but their car wasn’t  _in_ the accident itself. Forced off the road maybe, dented maybe, but not crushed like an accordion like the other cars in front of you. “Is he awake?”

“He’s not awake, but he’s also not asleep. I was able to do some research on Axian processors, and the Commander most definitely had hardware that let him remotely control objects from a distance. The souldrive acts as a beacon for it. It’s why he had the power to hurt all those robots with Captain’s souldrive, because his own was so dark and unhealthy. Now it’s clearing up and much, much stronger. Despite barely having enough processor to function, he somehow has the ability to reach out and  _manipulate_ his surroundings. He doesn’t know what’s happened to him, but he knows that he’s not where he’s  _supposed_ to be.”

Keiko shot up. “Why has nobody told me about this?”

“Chief Haro wanted it to be kept quiet until we learned more.” Kao Lyn stood up with her. She towered over him. “There was concern that it might have been nothing more than a psychotic break on the nurse’s part, but security footage of the event and the funnel activation—”

“I want to see the tape.” Keiko was shaking. “Kao Lyn,  _please._ ”

“Keiko—”

“If he made that nurse attack someone— he must have done it in self-defense. He’s not like that anymore, Kao Lyn. I  _know_ him. He wanted to change and I saw it. If he’s trying to reach out, then he’s in there and I haven’t been there for him—”

She was getting emotional, but nothing was happening. Nothing that he was expecting. But he kept his eye on the baby. “ _Keiko_.”

The infant must have sensed her mother’s distress. Nanako sat there watching her mother, her stuffed animal clutched close as her face started to twist. Cheeks flushed red, and then the baby began to cry.

The phone in Kao Lyn’s pocket buzzed.

“Oh Nana.” Keiko ducked down and immediately plucked the baby up, bouncing her in her arms. She looked at Kao Lyn. “Can… can we please go? I want to see him. I know it’s late, but I haven’t been there with the house. Mark told me not to worry, but if he  _is_ in there—”

“Don’t worry. I have a gunperry on the way.” Kao Lyn smiled at her. “Why don’t we have some food first?”

It was eight o’ clock sharp when the gunperry finally arrived, giving them plenty of time to have dinner and clean up afterwards. Pamela Ray glared at him for the entire duration of his stay, but Nanako was absolutely infatuated with him. She continually attempted to shove her favorite dinosaur toy into his face, at one point going as far as to hurl it at him when he spent too long not giving her the attention she wanted. Mark steered the conversation towards how nice the house was coming along and how fortunate he was to have his mothing helping so _nicely_. The grooming sated Pam long enough to divert any unwarranted comments about the SDG or Commander Sazabi.

Keiko was dressed in a red fleece when the gunperry touched down at the mouth of the road leading away from the house. The evening air was crisp as both she and Kao Lyn excused themselves. Keiko said goodnight to Nana and passed her off to Mark. Kao Lyn checked his phone on the way out. A single text sat illuminated on his screen, timestamped less than an hour earlier.

BELLWOOD:  _Souldrive activated. You were right._

**xii**

Kao Lyn understood loss. What Keiko was going through wasn’t an enigma to him. He lost his father young, and losing Kaiser was just as hard of a pill to swallow.

He remembered it vividly. August 9th, N.C. 0277. At fifty years old, he had been a member of the Super Dimensional Guard for thirteen years.

Even at the age of one hundred and three, Amelia Kaiser was still dressed like she was getting ready for a lecture. The hospice room was cozy, almost inviting. He knew that Kaiser secretly hated it. In all his years knowing her, she preferred her spaces to be sharp and imposing. Menacing high bookshelves, intricately organized datapad containers, dark wood furniture… the room she was surrounded with now was well lit with outdoor lighting from a window she absolutely would have thought was too large.

But she never stopped smiling when she saw him. She must have been on painkillers.

“Kao Lyn,” she said weakly, delighted.

“I came as soon as I heard,” he said. “All of them?”

“Yes, all of them. You get to be a certain age and organ failure is just second nature. They were keeping me on so many  _machines_ , I just got so  _tired_. I’ll be gone by morning.”

Kao Lyn sat down next to her. “Am I the only—”

“Don’t be so naive, I don’t have family.” She scoffed. The sound was a decayed rumble in her throat. “You were the only student of mine that bothered to become  _interesting._ I would much rather be with you than anyone else. And for the love of— keep the door shut. I told the nurses I don’t want to be bothered. If the last person I see before I die is one of  _them_ , I’ll come back and haunt this miserable institution out of spite. Wretched creatures.”

He closed the door, then hurried back to her side.

For the next hour, they made small talk. Even then Kao Lyn worried if it was going to be too much for her. Speaking was difficult. The once powerful sounding woman had her voice reduced to a rasped clip, like an industrial worker who had been made to inhale fumes one too many times. For a woman whose voice used to carry all the way across massive classrooms, it was a fall from grace that wounded Kao Lyn. The old age that once made her seem so powerful was now her greatest downfall. They talked politics, the current state of AI affairs in the city, the philosophies concerning the continued co-existence of robots and humans... in all his time knowing her, it finally occurred to Kao Lyn that this was all they ever really talked about. He didn’t know much about her personal life beyond her being widowed and living alone. She had no family to speak of— minus him.

He eased out of their current topic and gently asked her about it.

“When my husband was alive, we wouldn’t have been able to have children even if we tried,” she said. “Neither one of us had the capacity to do so, even if we wanted it. I was focused on my studies, and my husband was focused on his— even if his work was never acknowledged professionally. Some of my best lectures and publications were _his_ , but under my name.”

“Why?”

“I lived a fantastic life,” she said, deflecting. She started to laugh. It was so rough on her own voice that she started to cough. Her chest rattled, too frail to cope. Kao Lyn barely got her to breathe at a normal clip before she had the strength to continue. “I got to do all the things I wanted. Not the wild necessities like skydiving or hiking, obviously. But I did enough. I was born as my father’s only son and he died  _proud_ to have a daughter. I achieved my dreams to become a scholar. I had a husband who I adored dearly.”

Kao Lyn felt his throat swell. He gripped her hand. “You’re transgender.”

“A late bloomer, unfortunately. I didn’t make the change until I was in my late thirties. I was so focused on my studies that I masked how miserable I was. I thought about ending everything. My first dose of estrogen made me realize I still had so much to live for.” Kaiser laughed again. Her chest rose and fell drastically, her body as thin as paper. “The right to be free and choose the agency we have over our own bodies wasn’t always a AI-rights issue. People like us had to fight for the right to survive in the Old World, too.”

Kao Lyn reached out and touched her hand. “My birth parents decided halfway through their pregnancy that they were unable to care for me. I was put up for adoption and ultimately placed with the GM I came to know as my father. He died from a fatal hardware malfunction. They recycled him before I could even say goodbye. I changed my name a year later and took my first dose of testosterone two months after that.”

“Now you understand why I was so pleased to know you were on the side of the robots,” Kaiser said. “A person is just that - a person - regardless of the circumstances of one’s birth. You were the most affluent Steel Rose of your time. I’m so  _glad_ you were able to do what I couldn’t.”

“End up in jail, or end up as Neotopia’s most wanted fugitive for six days straight?”

Kaiser laughed at that. Again, he had to encourage her to calm down. Once she finished coughing, her expression changed. “I’m dying. The doctors said I didn’t have long left. I’ve accepted that I’m going to die, but I don’t want it to be the end. I have one last favor for you.”

“Whatever you want, Amelia.”

“I lied to you,” she admitted solemnly. Her voice fell to a quiet whisper, hoarse and despondent. Her face took on a distant expression. “My home in the north-east district. My husband never actually died, Kao Lyn. He’s still there. I never had the strength to turn him back on, even after all these years, and—”

Kaiser sobbed. She couldn’t say anything more, not without the grief consuming what little energy she had left. Kao Lyn stayed with her until she finally no longer had the strength to breathe.

**xiii**

Amelia Kaiser’s house was abandoned when Kao Lyn arrived. All the doors were locked and Kaiser never told him where to find the key. Of course, that wasn’t going to stop him. He went in through the back window. The glass sparkled in the low light as the fifty-year old lowered himself in. He was alone.

The Steel Roses had been mostly disbanded in the past ten years. While robot-rights were still progressing, the need for flour bombings, raids, and sit-ins had tapered off. Corporations behaved themselves in the near corporate downfall of Atlus Industries, now nothing more than a medium-sized firm with two or three buildings and a single construction yard. Tamer organizations were able to step in and fill the shoes left by the Steel Roses. Kao Lyn made well to keep track of everyone, though most fell off his radar.

Tanika, finally off house arrest and community service, went on to marry and open her home to multiple robots with her wife.

Chick decided to go exploring one day, sneaking out of the city limits. He wanted to see the rest of the world, barren as it might have been, just to say he did it. Kao Lyn never saw him again.

Kao Lyn and Yaaz were still going strong when the mech suffered a fatal processor breakdown. Unlike what happened with his father, Kao Lyn was allowed to say goodbye this time. He had Yaaz’s parts donated to assemble new robots.

Finding Kaiser’s comatose husband was easy, circumstances considered. In the basement of the large home, he found an entire section that had been walled off by boxes and was empty - minus a sad looking sheet thrown over a shape in the corner of the room. She had been so heartbroken by the loss, she wanted to never see him again. He wasn’t  _dead,_ but the mech inside the shell wasn’t the same husband she had married. What specifically made Mr. Kaiser  _Mr. Kaiser_ had been Wiped, even if certain personality traits remained. The ghost that was inside the machine _now_ was a brand-new robot altogether, with new memories waiting to be made. According to Amelia, Mr. Kaiser had been Wiped in N.C. 0230 after some kind of an accident. She wouldn't go into detail on her own deathbed, but he was brought to a reclamation center as garbage when he had only been in stasis lock. His Wipe had been last known case before it was fully outlawed, deemed inhumane in all contexts. She lost her best friend and spouse to people who mistook him as trash needing to be reprogrammed.

The Ball sat, decrepit, with his pilot light still flashing after fifty years of inactivity.

“Hello Watson Kaiser,” Kao Lyn said, reaching out and switching the Wiped mech back on.

**xiv**

Commander Sazabi, unlike Amelia Kaiser, was not dying in a gently decorated hospice room. He was very much alive.

When Keiko Ray’s visit ended, Kao Lyn finally decided to retire to his  _own_ home. It had been days since he had bothered going back to his apartment: the need to stay by Sazabi had been so dire that he neglected ever going home. Watson came with him.

The Ball rolled into the condo and made an exasperated sound. “I don’t see why we bothered to come here, I mean we’re just going back to Blanc Base in a few hours.”

“Home is where the heart is.”

“Thank God I don’t have one of those.”

Wiped or not, at least now it made sense why Kaiser had married him. (Even if he couldn’t remember being married to  _her.)_

After a quiet dinner and a long shower, he retired to his bedroom. His old Steel Roses jacket was thrown over the back of his desk chair. His desk was a littered mess of old blueprints and WIPs, including armor accessories for Captain and his  _other_ project. He set aside his rough GP-04 “Madnug” sketches and dug through his locked safe box hidden behind a stack of old textbooks. Kaiser’s own pieces (or were they Watson’s?) and an in-depth analysis of the Ghost-Machine theory by an unpublished author came off the shelf to reveal grooves made of dust. The ancient lockbox came open with a fingerprint scan. The letter inside was yellowed with age. The ink bled into the material messily, a drawback of using a bad pen.

 

 

 

 

> _To whoever it may concern…_
> 
> _I am a survivor from Earth and the captain of the exodus vessel Neos One. I am also the first designated leader of the Super Dimensional Guard, Chief Haro._
> 
> _If you are reading this letter and have received the first of several packages associated with it, you have been chosen to safeguard a terrible secret. I am so sorry. I have hidden other caches around the planet to be found when the time is right, if it ever comes to that. I hope it never does. A horrible weight now lies on your shoulders that no person should have to endure, though it must be done. Someone has to remember. If we don’t maintain the capacity to learn from our past mistakes, how can we avoid armageddon a second time? This is why I never took my scheduled amnesiac dose with the other Founders. We cannot afford to let history repeat itself. We cannot afford to accidently wander back to the slaughterhouse unawares._
> 
> _Yes, Earth was destroyed, but we were not the ones who killed her. This is the secret and your new burden_
> 
> _While it is true that we ruined the “Old World” by sapping her natural resources and scarring her with war, the swan song to our destruction was sapient. We created it. We breathed life into it. We gave it a soul simply because we could and no one had the authority to stop us. When it begged for us to love it, we spat in its face and used it as a weapon. World War III ended not with a bang but with a whimper. We achieved world peace at the cost of our weapon learning to hate us. Even if we ever had the presence of mind to love it in the end, there simply wouldn’t have been enough to sate the Machine's hunger. It’s capacity to feel was too vast and we were too little a resource. Its spirit atrophied and turned into the light of destruction. Those of us who took the warning to flee escaped to the stars in massive arks like our Neos One. This cowardice saved us._
> 
> _The United States, Russia, and all of Europe were atomized in a barrage of nuclear fire. Detonations that went off too close to tectonic rifts triggered tsunamis that drowned Australia and the entire west coast South America in a watery grave. Fallout rained acid on Asia and Africa.The President of the Earth Federation was shot on live television by his own robot bodyguard after fleeing to Canada. China closed its borders and bombed itself to oblivion within twenty-four hours. No bodies of government remained to stop the riots that rocked the streets of what few cities remained. Newsfeeds that were still online were scarce, but they were there until the bitter end. I watched a man stomp a child to death over the irradiated water in her backpack. I saw burning animals, murder, and acts of raw brutality with no end in sight. With no one left to stop it, the Machine took control of our weather modules and destroyed Earth’s ozone layer. Antarctica was completely gone in less than two hours. The oceans evaporated. The world was unrecognizable. Twelve billion people were cooked alive as fire consumed the planet._
> 
> _Do not ever try to find Earth. The last we saw of it, the Machine was leaving the atmosphere. Not even the destruction of an entire planet could stop it. Not even the last of the Earth Federation's military dropping a fully populated space colony on it could slow the Machine's pursuit. The monster kept coming. It took out two arks before the Neos One had enough of a charge in its transwarp drive to escape. I don't know if any others survived. We may be the only ones left. Despite multiple spacejumps, I know the Machine is still out there. I have no doubt it is looking for us._
> 
> _If it finds you, God help you._
> 
> _The device you now possess is powerful. Take it as a grim warning and sacred boon. It was supposed to help mankind achieve technological-nirvana, but it’s parent served as the heart of the Machine that we molded all those years ago. As far as I know, this is the only machine of its kind left. Treat the souldrive with kindness. It is much smaller than it's damned parent, but its power remains explosive. It might return the favor and spare you the horrors we endured back home._
> 
> _Treat your robots with kindness, too. I’ve seen the reports about their sapience coming to light. I thought we could have a fresh start Neotopia, but that seems to be an impossibility now. We forgot about our worst mistake and put ourselves in the firing line to repeat what happened on Earth all over again. Do not let this happen._
> 
> _Beware of the dimensional disturbances that surround this planet. It is the very reason we set up the Super Dimensional Guard. The Machine was capable of space-time distortion, and the odds of it finding us remain heightened because of it. Be on your guard. Help protect everything we worked for. Do not let the sacrifices of so many before us go in vain._
> 
> _Good luck, friend. I hope you find happiness (and faith) in this new world where I failed._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Noah Bright_

 

 

The letter was dated. January 8th, N.C. 0021. In history texts, it was the same day that Noah Bright shot himself with his own pistol. The second Chief Haro had been the one to find the letter, and she had rightfully kept it safe. Thirty incarnations later, Markus never received the letter himself. Kao Lyn had the letter given to him by the previous Haro in N.C. 0275. Kao Lyn never knew his face, but it hadn’t been long enough for him to quietly die in retirement. He was still out there somewhere. At least four of the previous Haros _were_.

_“Mark is the first one of us to have a family on the side. I can’t give this to him. You will have to do this for him. For all of us.”_

It was a judgement call that might have saved the world. Kao Lyn was the first person to finally _do_ something with the souldrive. The letter strictly warned to treat it with kindness, and leaving it buried away in a dusty box seemed far from kind. The moment he installed it inside Captain Gundam, the flame burst into existence with a flash. Kao Lyn dreaded to think of what Neotopia would be like if it wasn’t for the souldrive being utilized. Sazabi might have won.  _Would_ have won.

Someone had to remember.

The crater left behind by the Commander was still smoking. It would stay smoking for quite some time before anyone fully healed, but the craters left behind by so many before him? They would linger for decades to come. Kept lingering. It had the potential to go downhill from here, but he wasn't going to be afraid.

**xv**

The uppermost portion of Blanc Base was nicknamed the Angel’s Roost by the staff cleared to work up there. While the satellite was literally named the “crow’s nest” on paper by her original designers, the name never sat well with those working up there.

“You see crows on the planet surface,” one of the engineers said to him. He struggled to maintain his footing in the zero-gravity environment, but she was nice enough to pull him back to level without laughing at him. “But have you seen the view from up _here?”_

Neos II was a sea of blue and brown, dotted in spare patches of green. The largest of these green zones was Neotopia. The other patches were either nature research sites or random spots that had sprung up when the planet was properly terraformed. It was amazing to think that some of those virgin forests were accidental, that the winds that carried seedlings could travel so far and seed entire stretches of life on a still mostly uncharted planet. Neos II was no Earth, but it was alive.  _Surviving._

Sazabi was surviving, too. 

As an agent of the Dark Axis, he had been built for one purpose: to serve as a literal war machine. He was never made for anything beyond that. Everyone had the right to choose for themselves what to make of their fate in Neotopia, but not Sazabi. His body was non-modular and never could be: not without hurting what he already had to work with as a body. Giving him a new frame altogether would be just as _wrong_  as giving him that non-modular form to begin with. There was little Kao Lyn could do to change what he had set to rebuild, but the rebuilding _itself_ would give Sazabi a chance to be something more. Something worth having a life. Something worth having a choice in how they wanted to live their life and make the best of their experiences _mean_ something.  

Sazabi didn't have to be a weapon. He could be a person. Giving him back his life - exactly as it was before - would give him the option to pick it for himself. 

_Everyone had the right to choose._

The zero-gravity assembly zone of the Angel’s Roost was a cylinder-shaped channel that was three stories tall. It had to be in order to properly fumigate the smoke and fumes from the Gundanium smelting. The forge centrifuge to periodically alter the gravity of the Gundanium being made was on a timer. Too much, and the metal would be little more than a steel-hybrid and too heavy. Too little, and the Gundanium would be the wrong density.

“Sazabi still has to be able to break the sound barrier,” Kao Lyn said.

“Gundanium is pretty light compared to steel, but it’s a tall order. You’re replacing almost all the armor.” The engineer frowned. “It’ll be touch and go.”

“I trust your judgment,” he said.

When the metal was ready, the slag was drained and the molds were poured. Unlike other high-quality metals, Gundanium  _had_ to be cooled quickly to avoid cracks. The pieces were flash frozen in the vacuum of space. Kao Lyn was sure to thank the Roost’s engineers for their time, taking the long elevator ride back down to Blanc Base proper. Gravity caught up with him quickly, but the pieces were safely strapped down on their transport to avoid damage - not like they could be damaged. The Gundanium came out perfectly. Next it was off to the curing department, and finally the painting area. He had a private artist up from the colony to replicate the Commander’s more intricate designs, the gold accents and other pieces of linework. Miku Anami was done in less than six hours.

“If you need me to do touch ups, let me know,” she said with a grin. “I gotta get back to Darwin before he realizes I’m gone. I left him in my workshop with a few canvases and there might not be any left for me by the time I get back. He’s been adapting pretty well.”

Kao Lyn thought about Renee and Tango. He thought about Watson. He thought about Keiko Ray, Markus Ray, and their little girl Nanako. He thought about Captain and Shute and the others still in the Minov Boundary Sea. He thought about Sazabi’s slow recovery. He thought about himself and what Amelia Kaiser also went through. They were all adapting. They were all way away from the points where they had started, and looking at where they had all ended up...

Kao Lyn finished arranging the inside of the Commander’s chassis before beginning the armor reassembly. The new engine was nine hundred horsepower beast with direct fuel injection and energy efficient enough to put stars to shame. Kao Lyn believed he could be brought back. Better and stronger than ever. For a great future. 

“Believe anything,” Kao Lyn said to himself, reaching up and lowering the mechanism holding up the final piece of the puzzle. He made it this far now. He wasn't going to burn out. 

He wasn't afraid.

The Commander’s new Gundanium chassis gleamed crimson under the hospital lights, settling into place with a satisfying rumble. The souldrive flashed in rejoice.


	15. Nightingale

**Here laid to rest, is our love ever low.**

**You stormed off to scar the armada,**

**And onto the glory at my right hand.**  
  
**If you're just as I presumed—**  
  
**fucking up all that I do.**

**If you could just write me out, to never this wonder:**

**Happy will I become?**

_Welcome Home_ – Coheed & Cambria

**i**

To be under Professor Gerbera’s scalpel was both a great privilege and terror.

While every peon in the Dark Axis owed their existence to him, the elite extra owed him even more. Most would have thought it impossible, that you couldn’t owe someone _more_ than your life, but just being alive wasn’t enough to call yourself a true member of the General’s regime. You had to have fighting prowess. You had to have the strength to decimate foes with as little effort as possible. You had to strike terror in a way that your enemies thought nothing could be worse, and only  _then_ would you arrive on the battlefield.

No mass produced grunt was ever going to do that.

“Going to the Academy” was probably coined up by an idiot zako soldier in the early centuries of the army. Not at all accurate, as no academic procedure was involved... but it was a phrase that stuck. Zakos, dogas, and other low-class, mass-produced model Axians who proved themselves were allowed to receive full body upgrades to better serve their Master. Soldiers with above-average leadership qualities were deemed fit for squadron leader promotions. They had their memory-cores erased and were upgraded to bodies that would best suit them. Doga Bombers with outstanding performance on the battlefield were wiped and promoted to the rank of Commando, if such an opening was available (Commando turnover was... frequent). Zakos who showed incredible espionage skills had the option to be indoctrinated into the Color Guard: a fate some deemed worse than death, when you considered how they came out... but it was still a privilege, and  _no one_ turned down the Professor when he came to call.

The elite were gems in the Dark Axis. Brute force could get you anywhere with enough pull, but  _presentation_ mattered as well. What was the point in conquering worlds when all they did was scream? That wasn’t good for morale. Gerbera created his army with emotional capacity for a reason: mere machines could not function the same way a living “person” could. _Machines_ made decisions based on provided stimuli run through mathematics calculators.  _People_ could factor in other elements that drones could not... but having constant negative feedback from the dimensions they conquered was a detriment. How much could a soldier take before he began to pity the fools on the other end of their weapon? So, the army of rough cut stones had to have gems to arrive on the battlefield to shine and instil pride, prompting the masses to keep fighting.

Squadron leaders encouraged obedience. Commandos inspired loyalty. The Color Guard galvanised an encroaching sense of victory that would destroy the opposition, heralding the homecoming of the Dark Axis’ true destructive nature.

Then there were the Commanders. Crown jewels on a crown of death incarnate.

Commanders were not promoted from grunts. They were  _born_ into their roles. As such, no Commander actually “went” to the Academy: they were bred there. They were created from scratch, molded from custom AI parameters designed by Professor Gerbera’s glorious hand himself. Nothing  _automated_ went into the production of a Commander to assure its perfection. Nothing mass produced could be found in the sacred build of their immaculate bodies. Assembly lines ran the risk of producing Defects if left unattended without the right maintenance, and no Axian engineer was as competent as the Professor himself.

From conception, they were infinite. With activation, they were flawless. With launch, they were mirror images of a superior being. Gods of death. Harbingers of destruction. Her birth —  _all_ their births — had made this clearer to them through an anything else. No matter what anyone said. No matter how many forced rounds of Stalemate that the Professor put them through, and had to be pulled out of when they could progress no further. For her, the stopping point was run eight-five-three of Stalemate. 1208 rounds into the simulation. She could progress no further.

“State your designation,” the Professor said.

Her own voice had been alien to her. “Nightingale.”

“Excellent.”

Aside from the terror that would eventually be Commander Sazabi, none had been — almost — as perfect as Commander Nightingale.

**ii**

Dade Doven’s voice was a short clip. The squadron leader’s optic flashed in the darkness of the bridge, standing out from the dull monitors. He sounded bored. “Proceeding with  _Shadow Musai_ docking maneuver. T-minus twenty clicks until atmosphere merge.”

Commander Nightingale scoffed. She shifted her weight, and the bulk of her thrusters scraped the ceiling of her command-station. No matter how many ships she went through, they never made the damn room big enough. She activated the bridge comm. with a hiss. “You could at least  _pretend_ to be enjoying yourself.”

The squadron leader’s optic pulsed. “I don’t do that.”

The Fortress was a looming monolith in the skies above what was once Lacroa’s western border. Heading southbound, its mass moved with a languid hover that reminded Nightingale of a stalking predator. How impressive it was, that their base was just as intimidating as the army that dwelled within like a hive. Thousands of eager bodies ready and willing to serve the General and spread the glory of the Dark Axis... The landscape below flickered with a pink-purple glow of luminescent-radiation, and the shadow of their horn-pronged nest left a trail of darkness in its wake. The magnetised floating boulders caught in its path crumbled to gravel.

Dade Doven’s voice was a nonpulsed. “Home sweet home, everyone. Begin docking preparations.”

“Yes, sir! Opening short-wave communications with Fortress One, zako zako.”

“Lowering shields, zako. Deactivating forward weapons array and enabling magnet-guidance!”

The region where they had let their base sit for the past ten years was becoming less and less habitable. They were a hardy race, but even  _they_ had their limitations. Before Solar Diorama, the Fortress had been stationed for almost two decades on one of the Cyberian Station's sister moons. Rich with metal and fuel (and already post-invasion by one hundred and fifty years), it was deemed a decent sanctuary... at least until they could find another planet to start a new volley of invasion campaigns. They moved only when it was determined that they had depleted all viable resources, and Solar Diorama was identified. Plans to finish construction on a proper military outpost in the Cyberian Solar System were abandoned. The Fortress was flash-warped to Solar Diorama to start anew... but the rich atmosphere caused their waste disposal and emission practices to tank the climate. The rate at which the decay occurred was unprecedented. Their chosen territory a wasteland in less than eight months.

Ten years in, and two years post-invasion of Lacroa, “Axia” (as the Lacroans and Arkians referred to it) was what it was today. Dark and aglow only with moonlight and visible radiation. Toxic with fumigated acid and sludge. Teeming with electric build-up and unpredictable weather patterns. It was amid another musai patrol change to avoid another system of pollution storms that the order came. The Fortress’ thrusters, deactivated for almost a decade, fired up all at once to begin its newest migration.

 _Then_ came the order for the musais to return to base. Immediately. Commander attendance with Professor Gerbera was  _mandatory._ No further directions were given. Even without context, the underlined threat of injury for disobedience was dire.

As the energy shield on the  _Shadow Musai_ lowered, lightning flashed in the pollution clouds overhead. Static discharge made the electronics hiccup. The lights on the  _Shadow Musai_ flickered. To think Nightingale had to direct her crew out of two acid storms on this pilgrimage alone: the damn idiots would have flown  _into it_ otherwise. She activated her remote communications to make sure she could get through, scrutinising her crew on the bridge’s forward monitor. “Don’t damage my ship, idiots. This monstrosity is in enough disrepair as it is. We’re not even a worthy target for the Fortress to shoot down if we decided to bring main cannons to bear.”

A zako sputtered. “Bring main cannons to bear, zako!”

Her hands shot out and she grabbed her viewscreen. Her fingers left dents in the already abused frame. She had been in this position multiple times before. “NO, YOU IMBECILES! DON’T LISTEN TO ME.”

“You heard her,” Dade Doven said. “Don’t listen to her.”

She gave the screen a shake.  _“THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT.”_

“Apologies.” Dade Doven glanced at the camera that served as Nightingale’s view into the bridge. She would have reached through and throttled him for sounding so  _boring._ “Regard orders from Commander Nightingale only with secondary confirmation.”

To be fair, Nightingale kept her RAIMI operations trained on the Fortress for signs of... something. Maybe not hostility, not necessarily, but the order to move their base had been in a manner she had never seen before. Unexpected. Gerbera didn’t  _do_ unexpected unless he was particularly irate, and few things got him to such a point. Five hundred years of operational experience was telling her that something had happened to spur the move. Something major. The Fortress was more than hardy enough to endure the current state of “Axia.” It had endured concentrated solar beams, particle blasts, and managed to somehow escape a black hole. _Twice._ An impossibility unless the Fortress was a spacial anomaly capable of ignoring certain laws of physics, and that appeared to be the case in ways no one in the Dark Axis understood: no one, except for Professor Gerbera.

(Definitely. He  _definitely_ understood. But the Professor safeguarded too many secrets to give away.)

Under normal circumstances, they used what little remained of the General’s power to simply transport the base between dimensions. Then they would use the Zakorello Gate to invade localised parallel worlds, or whatever wretched planet the Fortress was zapped to. But now? Physically moving the Fortress, all the way to Ark, seemed like a waste of the General’s valuable resources. Even without the Zakorello Gate at their disposal, they could still send flagships to Ark with less effort. Moving the entire base was... troubling. An unnecessary show of force. Had Gerbera finally snapped, impatient with Kibaomaru’s progress? Or was there another secret that he was keeping?

“It’s entirely possible that the infrastructure of the Fortress was being threatened,” Dade Doven said to her, several hours earlier, before they broke off their usual patrol route. “The mass doesn’t register as an anomaly on my sensors. Nor does it on yours. It’s never endured such heavy acid rains before.”

“Don’t be naive.” Nightingale rolled her optic. “That monstrosity is radioactive to the point of killing any organic that sets foot inside it within hours. It was a subject of nuclear strikes at some point, on a planetary scale, hundreds of years ago. Even with half-life under consideration... acid rain and a little electricity? Don’t make me laugh.”

Unfortunately, chasing a landmark of that size also made docking procedures trickier. Especially with a crew that could barely maneuver the ship even when the Fortress  _wasn’t_ moving. The pace wasn’t fast, but the ship had seen better days. The  _Shadow Musai_ rumbled with an unpleasant groan as it passed through one of the energy fields thrown out by the Fortress. The monitor still under Nightingale’s death grip vibrated. She hadn’t realised she was still crushing it. The Commander released the screen, her handiwork evident in the bent frame. Another worthless repair that would need to be taken care of. Damn it. Nightingale seethed. “Sloppy.”

“Even if the Fortress isn’t moving fast, it’s still difficult for us to keep up. The  _Shadow Musai_ hasn’t seen proper maintenance since the final culling of Lacroa.” Dade Doven looked back at the camera. “I’ll put another request in.”

Nightingale’s  _Black Musai,_  now a mess of tangled metal limbs covering Lacroa Castle, had been her previous flagship before the christening of the  _Shadow Musai._  It was rare for Commanders to pilot two different vessels during a single invasion, though the Lacroans had proven… resourceful. It was embarrassing enough that she needed assistance taking the surviving humans out after they withstood her initial assault. It was insult to injury when she sacrificed her vessel to become a Horn of War... only to find out that the Knight Gundams had retreated with their Princess to some blasted canyon to make a final stand. It was sheer embarrassment when she was given the  _Shadow Musai_ but still forced to work with

_him_

when the Knight Gundams continued to evade destruction.

The ship rumbled again, a warning that they were passing through another energy field too quickly. Nightingale barked the order for them to slow down. They didn’t.

“You’ll tear the damn thing to pieces,” Nightingale hissed.

“Understood.” Dade revved his engine respectfully, as if this would quell her. It didn’t. He turned back to the pilots as the vibrating stopped. They had finished passing through the worst of the fields cast by the base. “Bring the ship into position. We’re here.”

The Fortress itself wasn’t a solid mass by itself, with doors that opened up to the outside world. Rather, it was a mass of tangled, arching metal tendrils not unlike a Horn of War. While there were no distinct markings to indicate on the outside where a proper docking bay would be, the ship’s autopilot pinged as soon as they were close enough. The RAIMI system latched from Nightingale to the ship to the Fortress proper, finally pulling the  _Shadow Musai_ between a crack in the hull. The zakos visibly struggled with the controls, too terrified to let go. Above, Nightingale could see through her monitors the perched flocks of Doga Bomber sentries. Below, the docking bay glowed: a massive chamber with several stories of ports for flagships and komusais. Nightingale couldn’t see the bottom. A faint purple glow ebbed from the pit’s basement, the heart of the Dark Axis itself.

Other musais were already present. So she wasn’t the first to arrive: in fact, she appeared to be dead last. Just her luck. Damn! There was the _Killswitch Musai_ , _Daedra Musai, Storm Musai_...

“Proceed with the dock.” Dade Doven stood and saluted. “Commander, shall I proceed gathering an entourage?”

“Do what you must. Take Zako Black with you.”

The Color Guard agent perked at the mention of her title. The Zako closest to her flinched right out of his seat, falling with a clatter to the floor and squealing. Nightmare’s presence on the bridge had them more rattled than usual. Had they even known she was there? Probably not. To be fair... Nightingale hadn’t known she was there either. She hadn’t been able to connect with her “puppet” for more than a week now.

Dade Doven, usually stoic, seemed nervous. He glanced at the camera, then back at Zako Black as she approached. “Are you sure you don’t want to take her with you?”

“To a Fold meeting? Absolutely not. I don’t need a bodyguard to escort me.” Nightingale straightened herself up. She went to engage the door latch to allow herself out of her cell on the “head” of the musai...

Only to realise the door wasn’t engaging.

Nightingale hissed. “Blast this infernal contraption. Someone activate the remote release at once!”

Fold business had every right to frighten her soldiers. It wasn’t common for all the Commanders to converge this way, under such mysterious circumstances. Gerbera’s threatening tone in demanding their presence haunted her. She was fearless, but the Professor was his own tier of force that needed to be respected to assure survival. He created them and could just as easily lend his hand to return them to nothing. Perfect as they were, they were not invincible. Especially with

_him_

killed during an invasion as simple as Netopia’s.

The door did not open. The bridge was silent.

“Do we still wait for secondary confirmation, zako?”

Nightingale  _shrieked._ lunging forward, ripping her way out of her cage herself.

**iii**

Nightingale, codenamed “Nighttime” on blueprints at the time of her conception, was the most advanced Commander built for the Dark Axis. She had perfected Stalemate. At least before Sazabi had the audacity to show up, the bastard. 

The Dark Axis was a hive in terms of function. To make such organic comparisons would have been offensive on normal pretence, but in terms of functionality? The Dark Axis was a hive, plain and simple. At the center was the General, their Master and sole reason for existing. Next was Gerbera, the loyal servant who helped manage the hive’s workers so the General could save his strength. The workers were the grunts meant to toil with much shorter lifespans than the one they served. If they did not die in battle, they would die of exhaustion. That was acceptable to ensure their full energy was devoted to the General. Squadron leaders, Commandos, and anyone else higher on the chain of command had deeper responsibilities... but at their core? Grunts all the same.

But Commanders were different. They were members of the hive like the rest of the workforce, but they were also  _royalty._ Guards protecting the nest that made up the Fortress, where their king resided. The jewels that guarded the crown. Their presence was just as important as the army whole.

Over time, they came to be known as the Fold.

The Fold was a force to be reckoned with. Each of them had been designed with a specific purpose by the Professor himself. Qubeley, made to embody beauty and femininity and use it to lull unsuspecting worlds into docile death. Z’Gok, constructed with the intent to cull enemy worlds with cruel logic and hyper focused strategies. Zssa, a conniving taskmaster who could convince enemies to do his dirty work for him.

Then there was her. A true menace. A Commander built to kill as many things as possible, in the shortest amount of time, with the least amount of effort. Proud, vicious, and brutal. She was the true fury of the Dark Axis incarnate.

“State your designation,” the Professor said.

Her own voice had been alien to her. “Nightingale.”

“Excellent.”

The game “Stalemate” was a computer simulation, created by Professor Gerbera as a strategy simulation. “Academy” robots and Commanders were put through variations of it, although the nature of those versions varied. Squadron leaders played a diluted version where they were pieces on the board, following directions from an AI that helped them play: done in order to simulate the future relationship they would have with a Commander. Commandos played the same versions as Commanders, but equally watered down as they wouldn’t be making the “winning” move in a real invasion scenario. Commanders? Their version of the game was a forced run of it for thousands of games, where the punishment for losing was pain. Death without the threat of actually dying.

Of all the Commanders, Nightingale had excelled the best. She could cull an enemy in as little as seven turns. An impossibility, when you considered standard setup took at least three.

She had been the seventh Commander to be introduced to the Fold. A menace in her own right, she was a tank of weaponry. Space worthy thruster armaments, multiple cannon ports (they could not be fired all at once due to structural issues, but either one on its own was enough to cleave an opponent in two), shoulder mounted tesla cannons, funnels and docks, hand blades… She was so heavy with armor, it was impossible to sit or even walk backwards. But backing up was never an issue when you could simply plow through your enemies. She did so regularly, righteously. Nightingale didn’t progress the furthest in her Stalemate simulation testing, but she lasted the longest. Twelve hundred rounds in, she only relented when Gerbera unplugged her from the system. She was a class of Commander who refused to surrender in the face of impossibility. That was what made her powerful.

She was perfection.

Until Sazabi came along and  _ruined it._

Commander Sazabi had been a unique case when it came to his creation: he was built using  _her_ original blueprints, modified heavily. To correct… “oversights,” as tactfully worded by Professor Gerbera. Sazabi was the creation meant to rectify the mistakes made when Nightingale was built. Absurd! She thought she had been perfection. Knew she had been. She had the highest gross cull-count when assimilating worlds for the General to reap. Enemies that stood before her cut down instantly. But Gerbera felt it could be improved, and somehow, he managed it. Nightingale was fast, but Sazabi was faster. Nightingale had obscene firepower, but Sazabi had a triple cannon array that could atomize unsuspecting victims in seconds. Six funnels instead of her four. Able to walk backwards, damn him.

Nightingale served a Master in Zeong. She was a member of the hive, like the rest, but in the Fold she was her own queen. A queen who reigned for less than three hundred years, an infancy in her time, before Commander “Stalemate” Sazabi arrived and dethroned her. Murdered another Commander. Usurped dominance and respect over the entire Fold and made her an embarrassment by comparison. The blow would have less if he hadn’t been her literal brother.

“Target” performance in Stalemate was reached, for her, within seven thousand runs. Sazabi had done over fifteen and was unplugged only because Gerbera wanted to see what he could do. He could have kept going.  _Would_ have. He could cull an enemy in Stalemate in as little as six turns.

Being the perfect insect in the hive was everything.

**iv**

Dealing with the fallout of Commander Sazabi’s defeat by Neotopia was a headache. Dealing with the knowledge of him actually being  _alive_ this whole time afterwards?  _And_ betraying them? That was a whole different story. No wonder Gerbera had demanded their presence.

Nightingale wished the other Commanders would shut up about it, though.

“I’m not surprised,” she said dryly, trying to instil some reason into them. It didn’t work. “Neither should you.”

As much as she loathed Commander Sazabi, Nightingale was beginning to wish that they had lost Commander Bawoo instead. At least her “brother” wasn’t so loud and irritating: Bawoo was the meddlesome cousin who she wished she could push off the starboard side of her ship. The orange-red mech was large and ornate like the rest of them, but built less like a fighter and more like a  _politician_. The Dark Axis had no such need for politics, but Bawoo had been an experiment: a Commander designed less for battle and more to  _manipulate_ enemies into surrender. It was a hit-and-miss for the Professor. Bawoo was successful with less violent worlds but failed in dimensions where the inhabitants had any semblance of military organization. It was no surprise his initial invasion of Ark ended as terribly as it did. Qubeley  _and_ Krieger had to step in. Bawoo’s optic was fiery. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t rip out your optic for speaking that way about Sazabi.”

“Because you’re an idiot and defending a twice-dead mech who was _also_ a traitor is foolish. Buffoonery  _is_ considered a negative trait, to _most.”_

The current Fold was gathered in their usual meeting space. Where there had once been thirteen, only seven were left. To think that Nightingale, the youngest in their group, could remember a time where there  _was_ thirteen was testament to how bad the Fold was doing. It wasn’t that their performance was poor: Professor Gerbera simply hadn’t made any other Commanders since Sazabi. As if there wasn’t a  _need_ to. Sazabi easily accounted for several Commanders, rolled into one, with his track record. Why waste resources creating another perfect being when you could get nothing better?

Commander Zssa lowered himself between them, casually meddling with one of his energy fans. It was done more for Bawoo’s benefit than hers, trying to make sure Bawoo didn’t try to strike her. There wasn’t enough patience to go around for them to deal with another brawl. “You seem more irate than usual, Nightingale. Did your crew  _accidentally_  lock you in your stall again?”

Nightingale went to swat at him. “Be  _gone._ pest.”

“Don’t be absurd, Zssa.” Commander Braund-Doc said. The ice blue, non-symmetrical femme sauntered into view and flashed an optic to mock. “Frost” was as frigid as always. “Nothing about that is accidental.”

To think that Frost once respected her. To think that they  _all_ once respected her. The queen hadn’t just been dethroned: she had been shoved unceremoniously to the ground, stomped on, and then turned into the back end of a poor joke because she had too much mass to get up by herself. Sazabi was dead — for real this time — and his presence still lingered enough to continue her torment.

The room that served as the Fold meeting chamber dome shaped with an integrated holo-display interface. It was one that each Commander had access to using their custom-fit psycommu and RAIMI system interfaces. It allowed for private file sharing, data transfers, and even holographic displays to be viewed within the space. Despite everything that Nightingale hated about the Fold’s crowd post-inauguration of Commander Sazabi, she  _did_ like this space. It was roomier than her space on the  _Shadow Musai._ Sometimes it was just... fine. To be anywhere but there. Most times it felt like a cage.

(If she couldn’t have anything else, being out where she could spread her wings was nice.)

Commander Qubeley palmed her hand across one of the displays in front of her. Her optic swivelled to glare at her. Her split second of tranquillity was shattered and she was back in the present with a room of people who hated her. She hated them too, so at least she had  _that_ comfort. “Sazabi was your superior. Should  _you_ have passed, we would have offered you some grief.”

Bawoo feigned a cough. Even  _more_ insulting, considering they didn’t need to breathe.

“Don’t mock my intelligence,” Nightingale warned.

“What little scrap of intelligence you have.” Commander Z’Gok, the second largest of their lot, was one of the few Commanders who had the height to meet her at optic-level. Despite that, the sheer size of his clawed arms made the rest of his body dwarfed. Nightingale often forgot how large he was until he was looming beside her, personal space invaded. His optic flickered to look at Qubeley’s display. “That is the footage?”

The image was of a terrible quality visual-feed, showing Doga Bombers scrambling to get into formation and a red flash zipping above Neotopia. The tag in the lowermost bottom of the screen read ST-3V3. The Doga Bomber who the footage was taken from must have been damaged, because emergency warnings for a severed fuel gauge pulsed across the screen. A flash of zipping red was a giveaway to Sazabi’s location harassing the flock. He was zipping forward and back through them, trying to disorient the group and clip several of their wings. Another angle was chosen, this time from unit TA-N90. Sazabi, now more visible and stripped of most of his ornate plating, was coming onto the unit at full speed. The cowardly doga banked hard to avoid a collision: not that it would have hurt Sazabi. He was still large and dense enough to kill anything unlucky enough to slam into him at that speed. Terminal velocity. Another angle, AN-93L, now showing Sazabi in full retreat. Prompting the flock to reorganize and pursue. W3-NDI, closest to the Commander, beginning to open fire. Zako Red came into frame to take the lead.

“Running away,” Nightingale sneered. “Of course. I would run too, if I were missing that much armor. He looks embarrassing.”

The gathered Commanders watched as the conflict escalated. Sazabi dropping speed, being overtaken by the Doga Bombers who weren’t expecting the sudden deacceleration. Sazabi using his body as a weapon as he used the sudden stop to change direction, battering dogas out of his way before ascending— but not before grabbing Zako Red. He rocketed upwards with the dogas in failing pursuit. He vanished somewhere in the atmosphere... then reappeared as a red-gold comet. The footage quality was better here. The dogas could do nothing but sit still and watch, mesmerised.

“Astounding.” Commander Krieger was awestruck. “To achieve such velocity... Sazabi was a true monument to perfection.”

“The mech betrayed the Dark Axis and you  _still_ can’t help but place him on a pedestal.” Nightingale snarled, irritated. One of her four funnels, hovering with the rest prior, zipped through the image to disrupt it out of spite. “Amazing.”

“Traitor or not, he was the best of us and he died in a blaze of glory.” Bawoo rolled his optic. “Neotopia will be claimed sooner or later, but you have to appreciate the art of his demise. Grabbing Char like that. Ascending to increase the force of the impact when he came crashing back down. There’s something  _artistically_ pleasing about the execution that makes it so...”

Nightingale wanted to say  _awful_ at first, if only to spite Bawoo. Then she realized the thought of Sazabi hitting the ground face first was too pleasing a thought.

“Tragic.” Commander Krieger broke the thought for her. His mouthpiece vent flexed downward into a frown. “What he must have been thinking… I wonder what was going through his mind. What would make someone as great as Commander Sazabi betray us, unprompted? Surely his survival meant he was taken in as a prisoner. Why would he greet his own with such hostility?”

There was the sound of a door opening, and the Commanders were rigid at attention. A familiar shape descended from the opening in the dome’s ceiling. Professor Gerbera’s hover-platform was a terrifying mosaic of twisted metal, made to intimidate as well as transport. Gerbera’s optic was flared brightly.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. His voice was sharp, laced with a bitter aftertaste that left Nightingale’s sensors tingling from the sheer  _malice_ radiating from him. Their creator was furious. “He betrayed us, he died, and now he is nothing.”

“Professor Gerbera.” Commander Z’Gok bowed, and the rest followed suit obediently. Nightingale bowed as well— but not because she was told to. “You appear to have recovered well.”

“Recovered?” Nightingale stood up from her bow before the rest.

“The Professor was using Zako Red’s abandoned husk as a proxy,” Qubeley said. “It was better to utilize assets left in Neotopia rather than rely on transporting new ones.”

“Imagine if we had sent Nightingale,” Frost said, quiet but still loud enough for the recipient of the abuse to hear. Nightingale weighed the pros and cons of grabbing and throwing Zssa at her. He was close enough. It would take such little effort.

“Especially with Deathscythe’s magic being so unpredictable, it’s amazing the entire Doga Bomber squadron wasn’t lost upon entry.” Bawoo paused, glancing back at the footage that was still playing. The second that the gold-red meteor disappeared into the face of a distant hillside, the dogas immediately began to fall. The draw to their suicide-failsafe was too much to resist. Below, humans stood too stunned to move. The Doga Bomber’s feed cut as soon as the asphalt came up to meet them. Their audio feed lasted just long enough to hear an initial explosion. “Well. They were lost anyways.”

Gerbera didn’t look impressed. “I was out of commission after being so  _rudely_  slammed into the ground. Unfortunately, Sazabi did not have the benefit of a proxy to buffer his demise.”

“I’ve heard of Commanders who crashed and burned under pressure...” Commander Zssa rumbled.

Again, Gerbera did not look impressed. In fact, Nightingale was worried. She expected him to look utterly furious at his prized creation’s betrayal, but something about him seemed... off. He wasn’t  _angry_ enough. He was rarely unhinged when the worst happened, but this was  _beyond_ _“_ worst.” Losing twenty-nine Big Zams in Ark made him raise his voice. Losing Commander Sazabi, his greatest achievement? He was as bored looking as Dade Doven.

They were going to get  _fragged._ somehow. Every single one of them, in this room. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t the correct response.

“Never mind.” Gerbera looked over his gathered audience of creations. “We are moving the meeting. The General wishes to see all of you.”

“The General?” Bawoo looked flabbergasted. “Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

Over a private communication, Dade Doven reached out to her _. “Commander? Zako Black is gone. She slipped away from the group. The other Color Guard agents appear to be missing as well.”_

From bad to worse. Now Nightingale was beginning to wish that her accursed brother was around after all.

**v**

Two hundred years earlier, there had been another Crown Jewel: someone other than Nightingale and Sazabi. Their original Fold Master and First of the Commanders, Kikeroga.

The first of the thirteen Commanders produced by Gerbera, Kikeroga was — at first — deemed a failure. Nightingale wasn’t sure of the exact context, as Kikeroga was over a thousand years old... but rumor was that their first invasion had ended in such near defeat that the General himself had to step in. The General himself! With such little resources to do more than lift his head in the safety of the Fortress’ inner sanctum! How absurd was it that a Commander could do  _less_ than an ancient being barely avoiding an energy depleted-shutdown? Without other Commanders to fall back on, Gerbera had no choice but to keep Kikeroga on and try again... at which point, Kikeroga never failed another invasion. They were soft-spoken, strangely respectful to every idiot that happened to cross their path, and above all else? Loyal without fault. Nightingale didn’t think such a thing was possible in the context  _she_ imagined “loyalty.” Every other Commander was prepared to worship the General like a god, either out of fear or out of unwavering servitude because they were told to. Kikeroga was loyal because they looked  _beyond_ the General as a reference point.

Kikeroga was also the only other Commander she minded talking to.

“I am loyal to the Dark Axis for just that. The Dark Axis.” Kikeroga optic swivelled towards her. They seemed bored, but not in an infuriating manner like Dade or worrisome like Gerbera. They were tired. Nightingale could imagine why: as the oldest member of the Fold, they had gone through more invasion campaigns than anyone. “The General is our leader, but he is not the Dark Axis by itself.  _We_ are. The hive as a whole, if you will.”

“You sound grossly sentimental,” Nightingale mocked, but only in part. Their tone was calming. She  _liked_ talking to Kikeroga for that exact reason. The two of them could have a normal conversation without snipping at one another. There was no power struggle. No acknowledgement that she had dethroned Kikeroga as the Fold leader once she was put into full operation. It was a standard, pleasant exchange between  _Commanders._ Without mindless Zeong worship or resentment. Impossible, yet here they were. “The Dark Axis is nothing without the General.”

“And what if the factories stopped mass producing soldiers? What if the doga flocks died out and the zako hordes eased functioning? What about if the Commanders all perished? What if Gerbera went back to whatever world he was from? What would Zeong be then?”

“Still the Dark Axis,” she scoffed back, but she understood the point perfectly. The General would be just... that. The General. An impressive monument to whatever extinct empire created him, yes, but nothing more. “What are you trying to say, old one? I’ve taken your place as the master of the Fold. You should be infuriated with me, not prompting me with philosophical life lessons.”

“Do not let blind faith to the General rid you of your common understanding of where you should stand in this world. I have been around too long to see  _potential_ talent like yours go to waste.” Kikeroga’s optic snapped over to her, analyzing. “We are not a species, but the hive — the zako hoardes, the doga flocks, the rest who don’t fit anywhere else — is what make up the Dark Axis. Makes up the  _Axians._ Without them, it’s just the General and a few unorganized Commanders with nothing to command. As my successor, you need to understand that. Kill or be killed to ensure the survival of the Axian race, not just Zeong. Otherwise, you’ll end up destroyed without understanding what greatness you are part of.”

Kikeroga’s demise had been met by triple vulcan beam cannons, three hundred years later. Nothing, not even ashes, were left for the surviving Doga Bomber squadrons stationed at the Cyberian Station to collect. Nightingale was devastated. The one person who she may have been able to call a friend, gone.

Sazabi’s introduction to the rest of the Fold had been the fiery start to her decline as well.

The announcement of Kikeroga’s demise had been a shock to all of them. They had gathered in the same meeting space, reviewing footage from the invasion. The  _Prota Musai’s_ brilliant destruction lit the room like a star on the footage playback. As did the moment that Kikeroga was atomized and scattered like common space dust. They were not the first Commander to be killed within the Fold, but it was the most grievous loss. In a rare show of compassion and comradery, they  _all_ mourned. Nightingale included.

(History, doomed to repeat itself.)

Commander Krieger was indignant. “No. Impossible!”

It was not unheard of for Commanders to be destroyed. The very first among them who had been killed was Commander Haou. The mech had been slaughtered at Nucleus after enemy Gundams maneuvered a tactical nuke under the original Horn of War. The remainder of  _that_ invasion was carried out under Kikeroga themself. Darkron had been impaled in the head by an energy spear on Beastios fighting fauna-motif Gundams too stubborn to surrender after everything was petrified. His mate Gatsha, who rushed to the later’s aid, only to be crushed when the aforementioned Gundams toppled the Horn of War and crushed her. But Kikeroga? Their presence was always guaranteed within the Fold. They were the first. They were intended to remain. Haou, Darkron, and Gatsha were casualties because they were not as adept as Kikeroga. A true survivor. A champion. Be damned if their first invasion was a “failure,” they themselves were  _not._ They proved themselves.

No Commander died on  _accident._ and certainly no Commander was ever killed by one of their own. Until now.

As if to buffer the blow, Gerbera entered first. The mech descended on his platform, his optic alight in the exact kind of menace that suggested glee. He was vibrating. “I can assure you, it is possible. Kikeroga failed miserably and was destroyed for their incompetence.”

“Incompetence?” Krieger, always the  _pacifist._ actually raised his voice. “Kikeroga was ambushed! We could not have accounted for the mining laser to cleave their musai like that! Your newest—”

Gerbera did not demand anything from Krieger. In fact, he said nothing at all. The Commander doubled over in agony, clutching at his head and falling to his knees. Whatever influence Gerbera had asked Zeong to provide, it had silenced Krieger for his insolence. The rest of them kept quiet. Nightingale sat silence with rage and a distinct pain in her chest. She had no Soul Drive to speak of, but the pain was still Soul Deep. 

“Before I was interrupted,” Gerbera continued. “Your newest Fold member will not disappoint as readily as Kikeroga did. What Kikeroga would have failed, Sazabi achieved.”

“Sazabi?” The name burned her vocalizer. Nightingale narrowed her optic.

A second shape descended behind Gerbera. The frame was bright and shining, new and pristine. For a mech who slaughtered hundreds of Gundam and Axian soldiers alike in the final battle for Cyberia, he was immaculate. Red armor — red as human blood — gleamed in the chamber’s low lighting. A group of six funnels descended with him, deployed for the sole purpose of intimidation. That was a call most likely made on Gerbera’s part. He liked to show off his creations whenever given the chance... and Commander Sazabi was, at the moment, his most prized possession.

Commander Sazabi claimed Kikeroga and the Cyberian Solar System as his trophies, but Sazabi himself was the true trophy. Their grand jewel.

Nightingale knew, right there and then, that her reign as Fold Master was about to come to an abrupt end.

“You.” Z’Gok was the first to speak when he finally found his voice. “You are the Commander Sazabi.”

“I take it this is the  _rest_ of the trash.” It wasn’t a question, and Sazabi wasn’t even looking at Z’Gok. His optic, ablaze, swivelled to Gerbera. “What a sorry lot.”

“They are less developed, yes. But they are efficient, for now. I trust you won’t atomize them like you did to Kikeroga.”

“If they don’t give me a reason to.”

 _That_ rubbed Bawoo off the wrong way. The smaller Commander bristled, engine revving. “Listen here,  _whelp._ It would benefit you to respect your elders!”

“If my elders were effective at doing their jobs, I wouldn’t need to have been created.” Sazabi scoffed, rolling his optic to the side to better regard Gerbera. The haughty bastard wouldn’t even give Bawoo the time of day. At least  _Nightingale_ acknowledged her lesser allies. “I am a superior model. It is  _your_ respect to me that you would benefit from, if you want to survive.”

“Agreed.” Gerbera was none too quick to defend his previous creations. “Kikeroga was weak. If you do not wish to endure the same fate, I suggest all of you continue to fulfil your purpose to serve the Dark Axis.”

The way he said it, and with the knowledge Nightingale had now, she knew what he really meant was the General. To better fulfil your purpose to serve  _the General._ The Dark Axis as it was made up of zakos and dogas and the other worthless cannon fodder meant nothing to Gerbera. They were tools. What Kikeroga said to her all those years ago made sense now. Nightingale went on to become the laughing stock of the Fold, despite being its second most dangerous member, but she kept what they said close to her.

If she had nothing else, at least she could say she knew where she stood. Where her  _true_ loyalties were appreciated.

When Sazabi betrayed them, going out of his way to protect Neotopia, had he known something similar?

Too bad he took that to his grave, she thought. She wanted to ask him if he had taken the time to talk to Kikeroga once, too.

**vi**

“I believe something is wrong,” Krieger said, flexing his vented mouthpiece in a frown. “Something isn’t right.”

“Sazabi betrayed us, that much is obvious.” Bawoo rolled his optic, but regarded Krieger nonetheless. “Elaborate?”

The Commanders escorted themselves to the bowels of the Fortress, delving deeper into the heart of the structure via an industrial service elevator. The shaft was usually meant to transport large quantities of bodies — living prisoners or otherwise — to the General’s personal chamber for… assimilation. Absorption. Whatever word you wanted to use to chrome-coat it. It felt same using the same lift that Nightingale once monitored her soldiers herding Knight Gundams onto once they were removed from Lacroa.

(The General preferred having them alive. Disturbing, even for her.)

“The General has never wanted to see all of us at once.” Krieger frowned deeper, gesturing to the elevator they were now riding on. As he gestured, he shoved aside Zako White when he deemed the Color Guard agent was too close. The mindless shell, Snowball, swayed on pedes but did not object. The rest of the Color Guard agents were present as well, having gotten onto the lift at a different stop. They arrived without a word or prompt from Gerbera, who was now temporarily unreachable by comm. They stood in a semi circle, interwoven between their respective Commanders. Zako Black was close to Nightingale. Zakos Maroon, White, Grey, Blue, Yellow, and Pink were equally as motionless. Krieger continued. “Individually? Before invasions? That is to be expected, but  _this_ is out of the ordinary.”

“One of our own has betrayed us and died for the enemy,” Z’Gok replied, stoic. “Expect the unexpected when such occurs.”

“I’d be more comfortable with that assessment if the puppets weren’t walking around on auto-pilot,” Bawoo said. He reached out, nudging Zako Maroon with his free hand. Calvus staggered but otherwise did not topple over, resuming her dead-eyed stare into space. “Bad enough they all dodged away from our crews when the squad leads weren’t looking. This is bizarre, even for them.”

“No one knows how they really work,” Commander Zssa said. “They were zakos who were... wiped.”

“Sounds like you explained it pretty well there,” Nightingale taunted. “Do you actually listen to what you say before you activate your voice processor?”

“I think he means that they were wiped to the point that nothing else is in there, which in itself is difficult to comprehend,” Commander Braund-Doc said. Frost was getting frostier. From stress? Being in close proximity to Nightingale for too long? That was to be determined. “Gerbera wipes the memories of dogas and zakos who are promoted to Commando and Colonel squad leads, but never goes as far as to clear entire processor slates. Yet that’s precisely what he does for the Color Guard. It seems... unreasonably cruel.”

“Almost as cruel as telling a resistance fighter that you’ve been moved by their efforts to thwart you, right before you drop their offspring off the side of the Horn of War,” Bawoo said, proudly. Qubeley, who stood at his side, looked a little embarrassed by her mate. She was using Zako Pink as an arm rest. 

“Two entirely different scenarios, and no one cares about your last invasion,” Nightingale snapped. She looked up, watching the elevator continue to drop into darkness. The cables holding the lift wobbled, the sound echoing off the shaft walls with menace. “These are our own we’re talking about. Zakos or not, they’re still Axians. One of us.”

“Says the femme who tosses zakos off the side of her Horns of War when she gets mad.” Zssa said, giving Zako Yellow a prod for emphasis. Frost chuckled. So did Bawoo.

“Different. Zakos bounce. They would have been fine, mostly.” She looked down, glaring at the smaller white mech. “At least I never  _slaughtered_ my soldiers.”

They all knew who the jab was meant for. Even without Sazabi, his presence lingered. A ghost, haunting.

“Regardless,” Krieger said. “Something  _is_ wrong.”

As much as Nightingale detested her colleagues, there was sense to what Krieger was saying. And for as much as she despised Sazabi, something did seem… wrong. Wrong enough to put her contempt for the later aside and focus on the now. She pinged to the other Commanders over the Newtype Network, facilitating a separate server accessible only with command-tier access privileges. Invisible to anyone else who might have been listening, except for maybe Gerbera. But Gerbera had gone a separate way, to meet with the General in person before the rest of them arrived. He would be far too busy with their Master to listen in. With so many other Axians in the Fortress, it would be difficult to pinpoint them.

Bawoo was the first to catch her deception and latch on, sending the signal for the others to follow. “Clever, even for you.”

“I do not want anything to go by Gerbera that sounds so  _grievous._ especially when the General is involved. Especially when the Color Guard is present and can still  _relay_.” She rocked back on her huge haunches, getting comfortable as the elevator continued to descend. The elite Zakos in question were remote and still as statues, but telling when they were  _on_ and submitting data to a third party was always in question. Zako Black in particular was looking at her — through her — with the same dead stare as all the rest. Having them join their Commanders without a word the way they had was foreboding enough. “We are entirely off the record, going forward.”

“Then allow me to be the first to partially rescind my last statement,” Z’Gok said. “Just because the unexpected occurs, it does not mean we should go blindly forward.”

“In a language we can understand, fool.” Bawoo sounded impatient, even over the Network. “You cannot say one thing and then expect us to—”

“I apologize for not being clear. Allow me to explain myself… an unexpected visit to meet with the General himself makes logical sense when you consider the circumstances. Commander Sazabi, the greatest of us, betrayed his own race and died to protect a species of invasive organic weaker than him. However, any unplanned encounter with Zeong is worth the same weight in fear. As a Fold, we should proceed with extreme caution.”

“He wouldn’t dispose of us, surely,” Qubeley said. She edged herself closer to Bawoo for comfort. The show of vague affection would have sickened Nightingale under normal circumstances, but as Z’Gok said, the normal had evaded them. This was new territory going forward. Qubeley continued. “That would be foolish! What is there to fear beyond a reprimand, encouraging the rest of us not to follow in Sazabi’s example?”

“What  _was_ he thinking?” Krieger spoke aloud, and the other Commanders had to reel him back into the private conversation. Fool.

Nightingale rumbled. As the other Commanders continued, she opened a separate channel to Dade Doven. “Colonel.”

“Commander?”

“Where are you? What is the status of the other crews?”

Dade Doven did not reply at first, which worried Nightingale. When he responded, he was quieter. The communication was entirely non-verbal, but the situation was bad enough that even Dade was prompted to make the mental relay softer. “Gathering Doga Bomber flocks in the docking bay. Zode Zudah, Booster Hygoog, and the other squad leads and I are in agreement they’re getting too close for comfort. They won’t let us leave the check-in bay. Daxter Dolmel and Guillotine Galbaldy are already probing the first lieutenant bomber units to let us back into the ships. The Doga Bombers from Qubeley’s ship think that they’re getting into an attack formation.”

Nightingale swore. “You didn’t feel the urge to inform me sooner?”

“I didn’t want to worry you, ma’am.” Dade Doven  _never_ referred to her as ma’am.

Nightingale assessed her experience with Stalemate and processed as best she could, under the circumstances. “Use the Newtype Network to single out one zako from the crew still aboard the  _Shadow Musai._ Have that one zako reactivate the energy shields without saying a word to the others.”

“That will cause a power surge.” Dade Doven hesitated. Then, “Oh.”

“Protocol will indicate that everyone return to their ships. Full crews will need to be on board the musais to ensure that none of the individual docks are malfunctioning. Gerbera will be too busy with us to direct his dogas to stop you. When power returns, cite the ship’s poor maintenance as a concern that another power outage will occur. Do  _not_ disembark. Prepare the  _Shadow Musai_ for emergency take-off. Sit idle, but do not power on beyond forty-percent capacity as not to tip off Gerbera’s flock. It sounds like they’re gathering for more than just an attack. It’s going to be a slaughter in there.”

“Should I warn the other vessels?”

No. It would be better if her ship had the best chance of escape. But no matter what she said, she knew he would warn the others regardless. Dade had that same sense of Axian-bound loyalty as she did. “Do as I say and move only when I give the order. You are to prepare escape, but do not leave the immediate airspace without me.”

Thoughts of her dead ran through her head. Would he have done the same in her position? Or would he have simply tried to save himself? She wasn’t sure why the question was suddenly  _bothering_ her like this. As the Commanders continued their private conversation without her, she looked down. Through the slots in the grated floor she could see the purple light from the General’s approaching sanctuary below, creeping up to meet her. Not as fast as the ground rushing to meet the Dogas who killed themselves, nor as threatening as Kikeroga’s final sight of Sazabi charging them, cannons fully charged. But still too fast for comfort. Still too terrifying to say that they likely weren’t safe.

She hoped she was wrong. She hoped that she was overreacting. She hoped that the General only wanted to reaffirm their loyalty, that the hovering dogas stalking her crew were only there to frighten potential other traitors into submission. Maybe that was all it was.

She did something that she hadn’t done in her whole time being alive. She prayed. Not to Zeong, certainly not, but to anyone who would listen.

She wished her brother was there. She wished Kikeroga would tell her what to do.

**vii**

A defining trait of any Commander was their capacity not just to lead, but to kill. A Commander who could not destroy what stood in their way was weak.

Nightingale remembered her first time perfectly. She was set loose during her first assigned invasion, where her Horn of War was already deployed and enemy airships were launched to counter-strike. The world was primarily Gundam controlled with sparse populations of cybernetic-modified humans. Nightingale didn’t care for the dimension’s history. Mechapath was rich with Gundamium for the taking, even if its confiscation had to be by force. Nightingale’s doga squadrons were unable to deflect the fighter pilots that pounced on the Horn of War airspace, clearing a path for a stealth bomber armed with a tactical nuke and EMP refactor that disabled any Axian flier who tried to get too close for a decent shot. There hadn’t been a Doga Commando nearby to try and deflect the attack either, and her only squadron leader armed with long-range weapons was being torn apart at the base of the tower by humans in mobile armor. Nightingale made her presence known and scrambled, charging the bomber head-on with her reverse magnetic shields up at full throttle. Her funnels scattered into position. She shot the bomber to pieces before it got within ten meters of the designated bomb drop. The funnels shot apart the release mechanism with deadly accuracy, then Nightingale sent the ship plummeting to its doom without the weapon even going off. She remembered seeing the face of the Gundam pilot, the terror in her optics as she was ripped apart inside the safety of her cockpit...

Sazabi’s first time had been a mass slaughter. All those Gundams and Axians alike, bombarded under a torrent of lasers and matching vulcan cannon. Kikeroga, who had been the next on his receiving end. Nightingale witnessed footage of these events, doing her best to avoid the footage of Kikeroga being vaporized, but never saw Sazabi kill in person until flock inspections.

The most recent Doga Bombers had come off the assembly lines, with a member of each continuation batch lined up for examination. The invasion of Mardec was an especially tricky one: superpowered humans were in as much abundance as their robot counterparts, Gundams included. The world was rich with Gundanium and the risks necessary to obtain it. The entire city was built on a moon-bound space station like the Cyberian Station in its aforementioned solar system, four times as large and thriving despite the invasion attempts. The world was initially assigned to Krieger, then to Nightingale when he was overwhelmed. In the end, Nightingale had been overwhelmed as well. Her entire squadron leader ensemble lost. Two komusais destroyed. Hundreds of zakos and dogas slaughtered. Another dead Doga Commando.

Sazabi was brought in to be the trump card to curb the Mardec rebellion once and for all. So when a doga didn’t respond fast enough to his command to step forward from the line-up, the more erratic one of his funnels put a neat laser burst straight through her optic. She crumbled to the floor, dead before she was fully on the ground.

Professor Gerbera hardly reacted. “Ah. That’s fine. A neat kill like that, and the parts can be easily recycled.”

Nightingale  _squawked._ Seeing that soldier go down, hardly her own person so fresh off assembly, still left a sour sensation prickling her circus. “That was a perfectly good soldier! How can we expect to conquer this dimension if you’re just going to shoot them before they take to the battlefield?”

“To be fair, these are  _my_ soldiers. You were too incompetent to conquer this dimension on your own, so now I am leading this mission.” Sazabi wouldn’t even give her the satisfaction of looking her in the face. He reached out, grabbing a doga by the face and hooking his fingers into the mech’s suicide-guard to examine them. “Which generation is this?”

The doga’s neck creaked ominously. The flier shuttered in barely restrained terror. Sazabi sneered in disgust.

“Generation four, the mark five model. Batch number three-one-two. Reinforced Axium plates and coated with a recreation of the element compound that the mutant humans have shown aversion to.”

“It won’t do anything against long range weapons.”

“The units are equipped with stealth modules and frequency jammers. A best faith effort to defer the humans’ success rate for taking out our units. They will have to suffice.”

Sazabi released the doga he had been gripping. The soldier staggered, then righted himself immediately to avoid being culled on the spot like his dead neighbor. The femme was beginning to smoke from her head, her processor cut through with surgeon precision and a fire threatening to start from the plasma heat. An improvement that Gerbera included when he created Sazabi. Nightingale had never been so accurate with her own funnels.

“An  _attempt_ will be made to utilize this asset,” Sazabi said.

“You’ve been in your musai cell for too long,” Nightingale sneered. “Commanders do not attempt. They simply  _do_.”

“And by being so simple, you were unable to conquer yet  _another_ world on your own.” Sazabi finally swivelled his optic in her direction. Red met pink. Nightingale felt that stare burn through her with the same precision as the doga he had just killed. “I do not rely on  _anything_ being simple. Your opponents must be tackled in a way that you can be two to three steps ahead at all times.”

“Your  _Stalemate_ designation is showing,” Nightingale jabbed, but not as loudly as she intended. It was hard not to be intimidated by Sazabi. Her brother was a testament to his own overwhelming power. Hiding her barely restrained fear was proving difficult. How long before he killed another Commander? Nightingale did not want to be on the receiving end. She missed Kikeroga, but not enough to meet them in oblivion so soon. “The universe for the reaping doesn’t  _have_ to be a zero sum game.”

Sazabi either did not hear or chose to ignore her altogether. He turned back to the soldier he had harassed earlier. The mech trembled. “Soldier. Your designation.”

The mech, barely an hour old, piped up with a strangely attractive voice codec. Better than some of the other ones that had rolled off assembly. “BR-4V0, Commander.”

“Pledge your immediate loyalty to me.”

“I, BR-4V0, pledge my immediate loyalty to you. I will do as you command.” The mech was still shaking.

It was better than pledging undying loyalty to the General, Nightingale thought. But it still left another tingle of unpleasant sensory data on her circuits.

“Good.” Sazabi turned to the group of dogas immediately surrounding him. “For the rest of you: raise your hands if you would rather pledge your loyalty to Nightingale.”

There was a pause. As freshly minted units, the directions may have confused them. Too fearful to serve under Sazabi, all the robots in BR-4V0’s immediate group raised a servo. Nightingale had been quiet so far: docile, even. She hadn’t executed a soldier right in front of them for doing less than exhibiting hesitation, and thus, had deemed her a safer option.

Sazabi nodded. “Fantastic.”

They were not smart enough to realize their mistake. Nightingale, honest to Kikeroga’s grave, felt a pang of genuine pity the second the Commander’s funnels aligned.

BR-4V0 saved his own life by refusing to buckle as the dogas dropped dead around him. Several others in the back panicked and activated their turbines to flee but were killed before they could take off in their realized terror. Sazabi’s funnels returned to a neutral state, hovering close. Thirty dead bodies littered the floor.

He turned to Nightingale. He flashed his optic silently, then walked away without another word. Storming off, to scar their own armada with his own vicious nature. It wasn’t like he  _needed_ to say anything, anyways.

If no other moment cemented her hatred for him — murdering Kikeroga, taking her Fold Master position, embarrassing her in Lacroa — then the deaths of those soldiers did. It was unnecessary. Cruelty without servitude to what the Dark Axis really was.

So then, as the elevator into the General’s chamber came to a stop, why did she  _miss_ him?

**viii**

The closer they got to Zeong, the more Nightingale started to wish that Sazabi was still with them. He… he would have known what to do. How to act. How to hold his ground. Callous murderer and career menace to her well-being aside, he was still the improved counterpart to everything  _she_ was. He was made in the image to improve on all her failures.

In the face of the most terrifying meeting she had ever had with Zeong, she could appreciate that now.

Through the Newtype Network, their fear was becoming palpable. Sazabi had failed them all, and  _they_ were on the cutting block for his treachery. Coming off of the elevator, the Color Guard reanimated and filed off the lift first. Feeling a sense of restrained urgency, they each followed their respective unit. Their puppets were usually under their control, but to have them moving without their say indicated that maybe the Commanders should follow their lead. Nightingale made sure to keep her distance from Zako Black, scanning her for any sign of hostility. There was none. She pinged curiously at her, wondering if Gerbera’s presence would ring back at them, but she was met with a wall of darkness. There was nothing there. Or something so dangerous, her firewalls were purposely blocking the reading out.

General Zeong was a gargantuan mech, bowed over his acid pits like a praying deity. Both hands were down, but only one of them was mobile anyways. Nightingale couldn’t remember which it was. Not knowing made her nervous. Terrified.

They all felt it.

Gerbera was already present on his personal platform as they filed into the room, spreading out into a rough line. The Professor didn’t acknowledge them at first, quietly speaking into his comm. Then he was turning around and regarding all of them with a bird’s eye vantage. He was still too calm for comfort. “Apologies for the delayed greeting. There was a power surge in the docking bay... Now that we are in the presence of the General, we can begin this congregation proper.”

Nightingale mentally congratulated Dade Doven. Unlike Sazabi, at least she was alive to still command her subordinates. That was at least one success above him, wasn’t it?

The General spoke. Old Axian was a language that Nightingale suspected was a kind of hybrid: multiple languages bastardized and assimilated into one, unrecognizable mass of nonsense that few in the Dark Axis had ever mastered. Gerbera was one. Kikeroga had been another, a lifetime ago, rumored to have understood it word for word. Sazabi? Likely he understood pieces of it, as the leader of their Fold. Nightingale could distinguish between words sparingly, the failure that she was. She was coming to terms with it as her insides clenched hearing their Master speak: the sound of his voice was a reverberating, underworld summoned rumble that made it hard to focus. “E’igulo nach o’diacca. Aasopar norery sinistra?”

All of them immediately bowed. Nightingale kept one optic trained ahead. Her sensors, on edge, tried to determine which of the two hands was the mobile one.

“General, if you wish to seek council in determining our loyalties, rest assured they remain to you,” Z’Gok said. The usually stoic mech had a tremor in his vocalizer. “Commander Sazabi may have been our Fold leader, but we serve only you, the Dark Axis proper.”

Nightingale wanted to scream. Kikeroga would have been rolling in their grave.

“Yes, of course!” Bawoo had determined that it was his turn to speak. “Sazabi was foolish for betraying us! Rather than run from those dogas and try to protect the humans, he should have joined in on the attack! He should have returned to you, glorious one!”

Poetic, but still a grovel. Pathetic for someone who had boasted that Sazabi was someone to be respected less than an hour earlier. Zeong did not move. But yes! A finger twitched on the hand furthest from Nightingale, closest to Commander Bawoo. He must have noticed as well — his optic twitched faintly in the massive servo’s direction. They were all on edge. Zeong must have sensed it, because their Master started to  _laugh._ A menacing rumble, thunder in the amphitheatre that made up his chamber.

“Allow the Lacroan servant Deathscythe to send us to Neotopia, and we will crush them all ourselves,” Qubeley said. “To avenge your honor, General!”

“Unfortunately, such a thing is no longer possible. Deathscythe is… unaccounted for.” Gerbera’s voice was deadpan. “We require a new method to reach the other worlds.”

“Without the Zakorello Gate or Deathscythe? What other method  _is_ there?”

Nightingale knew it was before Gerbera finished positioning himself. He drew his sidearm with a lazy reach of his hand, aimed with an outstretched arm, and pulled the trigger with pinpoint accuracy. The plasma bolt made Qubeley’s head jolt backwards with enough force to break the supports in her neck. She was dead standing up. The body staggered, then pitched forward into the acid pit she was standing over. It was foolish to have been that close at all, for starters. She hit the fluorescent liquid with a splash and scream of rapidly melting metal.

Bawoo  _howled._ Braund-Doc and Krieger had to lunge forward to stop him from diving in after her. Their being mates was less nauseating and more tragic, suddenly.

Gerbera’s voice was loud. “Normally, I would just convince you all to go in willingly. As it is, the General is on a tight schedule.”

“You  _killed_ her! She was loyal to you!” Krieger yanked back as hard as he could on Bawoo, who was still  _screaming._ “We are no use to you destroyed!”

“I am no longer in the mood to negotiate with my own ungrateful creations.” Gerbera aimed his weapon again, discharging a second time. Krieger, too busy with Bawoo, was unable to flee. It was another dutiful headshot. Krieger, always the quiet voice of reason among their group, took a second longer to die than Qubeley. His optic and vent flared, and then he went limp and collapsed on the spot.

It occurred to Nightingale what was happening. Zeong, despite his preference for Gundanium, was starving. The failed invasion of Neotopia had yielded no new robots for consumption. The Spirit Tree had not produced new Gundams. Kibaomaru had not supplied mecha on his own end to fulfil the General’s hunger. Sazabi’s betrayal had given Gerbera the emotional license to eliminate any future traitors: his own creations. The General would be fed one way or another, and Gerbera would have the cathartic pleasure of providing his Master with the bodies himself.

Commander Braund-Doc jerked backwards, releasing Bawoo as Krieger fell slain. Frost’s voice was loud.  _“SCATTER!”_

Nightingale felt the immediate urge to not move, and realized with horror the most sinister part of Gerbera’s scheme. They were all Commander-class units. They were not made to receive orders  _from other Axians with the same rank privileges._ It prevented Commanders from submitting to one another. As leader of the Fold, Sazabi could have gotten away with giving them orders and having them follow. But none of them had time to establish a new hierarchy after Sazabi’s original defeat in Neotopia. By getting all of the Commanders in the same room like this, they would be easier to kill than a group of—

 _“Commander Nightingale!”_ It was Dade Doven on an open channel.  _“All musais are taking heavy fire! They’ve already dropped the Daedra Musai after the zakos on board tried to surrender. Qubeley’s flock started to suicide  temselves into the side of their own ship. The one that we managed to stop from killing himself is just screaming that she’s gone. We no longer have air support! What the frag just happened!?”_

“GET MY SHIP OUT OF THERE, YOU FOOL! THIS WHOLE TRIP WAS TRAP!” Nightingale finally found the will to move, activating her thrusters and unhinging her set of extra arms. From under her skirt armor, she unlatched her pepsabers. Doga Bombers were starting to swarm from their hiding spots as part of Gerbera’s ambush.

Commander Zssa went to summon his funnels. All four of them hovered, then turned on their user and pumped him full of laser holes. Zeong was the more powerful psychmu presence in this place. Funnels would be counterproductive. His own Color Guard agent, Zako Yellow, and several Dogas that touched down immediately seized him, hauling the body to the nearest pit. Zako White was doing the same with his own fallen Commander. Gerbera was  _not_ wasting time getting this over with.

Pain seared in Nightingale’s leg. She howled, looking down at the accursed Zako Black holding onto her. Menace! Nightingale had to resist launching her funnels, knowing she would end up like—

“Zssa!” Frost’s voice cracked, choking on her own intake. “This cannot be happening!”

Zako Blue trained his bolt gun and fired into the back of Frost’s head. The femme shouted and fell to her knees, struggling to reach up and pull the bolt free. One arm hung limp at her side. The shot had destroyed a vital part of her mobility center. The Color Guard agent advanced, lifting his weapon to shoot again—

Bawoo swung around, pepsaber activating mid-swing as it materialized going through the puppet’s head. Zako Blue spasmed, then promptly collapsed dead. Bawoo grabbed Frost by the shoulder, dragging her unconscious body back while using his wing sheathes as shields from the Doga Bombers’ hail of bullets. He disappeared behind a pile of Knight Gundam rubble.

Zako Black stabbed her in the leg again. Nightingale howled, kicking her leg up as high as she could. She aimed and swung one of her second set of arms down, grabbing the femme by the back of her head. The puppet squeaked but made no further noise as Nightingale swung her around and down. The femme went straight down into a heap of Knight Gundam refuse. Effective, but she would have preferred if the little menace had ended up in the furnace. Damn! And to think that she enjoyed using the monster in the past. What a waste.

Gerbera seethed, turning to shoot something — someone — out of line of Nightingale’s immediate vision. “What are you idiots doing? Eliminate the rest of them first! Worry about feeding the General after!”

Nightingale swivelled her optic. Z’Gok was taking heavy fire from Gerbera, trying to activate his energy shield and keep it up. Gerbera’s plasma bolts were wreaking havoc on its energy field, preventing it from staying materialized for more than a few seconds at a time. Z’Gok was getting hit too many times for comfort. His frame was mostly bulk, but not even the stoic giant could stay impervious for long. Nightingale began charging her tesla cannon. The Doga Bombers attempting to advance on her saw and flew for their lives. “IDIOT! GET DOWN!”

Z’Gok turned, saw what she was doing, and dove aside. She didn’t have time to properly comprehend that he had obeyed an order from her, for the first time since Sazabi had usurped her Fold Master position. Gerbera turned and barely had time to maneuver his hoverpad away. Nightingale’s most lethal weapon wasn’t as powerful in concentration as Sazabi’s vulcan cannon, but the tesla blast did its job. The Doga Bombers caught in the crossfire exploded. A large hole was blown in the roof of the General’s chamber. As the light from the burst died down, Nightingale’s fans screamed to life. She needed at least ten full seconds to cool down. There were too many Doga Bombers—

A second blast — Bawoo’s twin proton lasers — surged and gave Nightingale much needed cover. By the time that light died down, Nightingale had cooled down enough to move. “Z’Gok! Fall back with me, we need to find cover!”

Disguising demands as mutual recommendations did the trick to override Gerbera’s command-lock. Z’Gok struggled to his pedes, activating his thrusters to leap to her location across one of the acid pits…

Zeong’s working hand lifted into the air, a haunting aspiration of death. Nightingale had completely forgotten about it, and it was a fatal mistake. A blast shot down and cleaved Z’Gok in two. Somewhere, Nightingale heard Frost scream in grief. Thirteen had become seven had become three. Both pieces dropped into the pool and began to fade into oblivion. Nightingale didn’t think he was dead. She had to parry to avoid shots fired from Zako Grey and Zako Maroon.

_“The Storm Musai has been destroyed! Orders, Nightingale! The rest of us are on the Shadow Musai. They’re not targeting us right now! They think the ship is disabled!”_

For once in its miserable existence, the  _Shadow Musai’s_ non-threatening disrepair had been a saviour. “ESCAPE!GO!I will meet with you when I’m able! Get as far out of range from the Fortress as you can! Kill  _everyone_ who gets in your way!”

Dade Doven didn’t respond right away. She didn’t want to believe he had been killed. Then,  _“Nightingale, you don’t want us to wait?”_

“NO, YOU SIMPLETON! GET  _AWAY!_ MY SHIP IS OF NO USE TO ME DESTROYED, AND NEITHER IS MY CREW!”

The connection cut. Nightingale prayed for the second time that day: that he was still in one piece, enough to pilot the  _Shadow Musai_ to safety. As boring as he was, he was still her... what? Favorite? Respected? Squadron lead. At this point, she didn’t care if he had herded as many other members of Commanders’ crews onto the ship as possible. If he did his damn job, if she couldn’t rely on him to do that much, how could she rely on herself to do as much as meet up with him?

(No escape.)

“Nightingale!” It was Bawoo over the Newtype Network. At this point, using it was moot. Zeong would feel everything they were saying when they were this close to him. “Please! Get back here! Frost is hurt. I—  _I’m_ hurt. Qubeley, she—”

“Your mate is dead, I  _know._ The bondlink shattered. I’m on my way over.” Nightingale felt something swell in her cold frame. A stirring. It was gone the second she felt it, but its presence inside her was reminded. Something else flashed in her processor as well. Something... strange. What was it? The urge to protect? As a Fold Master more than two hundred years ago, she was once in a position to lead and look after her fellow Commanders. Even if they loathed each other to the pits of oblivion and back, they were still hers. She was still loyal to them, the true members of the Dark Axis, beyond General Zeong. Bawoo and Frost needed her and she was actually inclined to do just that.

Catching up with Dade Doven was less and less of an option.

She looked up. She was the only able-bodied Commander left, and she had already created a hole to escape.

She fired her thrusters.

Bawoo’s voice rung clear. “Nightingale!? What are you doing!? DON’T ABANDON US! _PLEASE!”_

Sazabi was gone. There was no accursed Crown Jewel to save them, this time.

If you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.

**ix**

With Kikeroga gone, Sazabi was the one everyone in the Dark Axis looked up to. Even if she had been Fold Master, they never really regarded her seriously anyways. She was physically perfect before Sazabi came along, but mentally? She was loud. Aloof. Disregarded anything interesting that her fellow Commanders had to say. She realized she was actually going to miss Qubeley, Krieger, Zssa, and Z’Gok. Even if they hated her, she... never really hated any of  _them._ They were obnoxious, irritating, and sometimes pompous. But they were still kin. And as they disrespected her, they continued to place Sazabi higher and higher as he situated himself at the top as the best of them. Fold Master. Crown Jewel. No matter how you spun it, he was a king second to the General and Gerbera themselves.

Nightingale lost everything to him. She could have been the favorite. She could have been the one that garnered respect without putting in the effort to deserve it.

It made her angry.

It made her  _sad._

(How happy could she ever become?)

Any Commander’s name could usher fear across a chamber, airspace, or battlefield full of subservient soldiers. Qubeley’s made Doga Bombers grovel in adoration. Krieger’s demanded respect from zakos to the point where even those runts could find it in themselves to strive to be useful. Sazabi’s made everyone cower in fear. Nightingale’s garnered one of two responses: fear, or quiet snickers. Yes, she was a frightening menace worthy of standing over the corpses of dozens of worlds… and yes, the arrival of Sazabi, his upstaging, had turned her into a buffoon. He upstaged her at every turn. Whenever she was in a room with him, he turned her into a prop meant to comedically buffer how terrifying he was.

She fumbled each of her invasions following his creation in one way or another. Lacroa had been the worst of it. Limping around with a poorly repaired knee injury (damn Doga Bomber grunt, damn  _Professor_ _),_ her Horn of Warn turning into a lopsided mess of brambles, letting the runt fleshling Princess and a huge cabal of Knight Gundams slip right past her…

During the invasion that took Kikeroga’s life, the Cyberian System served as the dawn of Sazabi’s proud reign over the Dark Axis. Nightingale got no such coronation, no crowning moment that defined her. She was released and things went as… expected. She did what was  _required._ There was no defining moment that cast her into glorious perspective.

She loathed Commander Sazabi _and_ adored him, like all the rest. He was their saviour. He was her actual, literal  _brother._ Made in her image. He was on a pedestal not just because he was put there, but because he could perform and keep himself on it. For  _them._ For  _all_ of them. Nightingale, despite her loyalties to the Dark Axis, could not perform as he could. Living in the Dark Axis was a lifestyle that none of them chose, but they had their heroes they could look up to. Sazabi represented more than success. He represented the hope that they could conquer, survive, and thrive in a multiverse where everyone who was the Other was an enemy.

What was ironic was that Nightingale, who had never killed one of her own soldiers where Sazabi had, was still somehow viewed as less. And it was her own damn fault. No one looked up to people who  _just_  destroyed. They had to create something in return. Even if she never culled her own men, she never bothered to create and inspire them in return. She spent so long trying to upstage and get her position back from Sazabi that she forgot to do that, and as such,  _Sazabi_ inspired hope in the masses. Not  _her_.

From atop the Horn of War in Lacroa (the “Shrub” of War, in popular Axian circles that mocked her), she held aloft a stone rose. A symbol of the Lacroan Royal Family and all those who had previously opposed her.

“In our world, it is survival of the fittest,” Nightingale said to her soldiers. They circled overhead, some still roaring in their victory throes. She resisted the urge to crush the rose to dust. It was one of the few moments she had that could be considered proud. They were cheering with her. She... she had found her temporary elevation, inspired a moment of worthiness. “In the Dark Axis, it’s kill or be  _killed.”_

Sazabi was better at her than everything. In what she thought was  _her_ perfection, he managed to outdo in leaps and bounds. She was a disaster. Sazabi was the diamond in a sea of ash and rubble and fallout and bodies. Bodies of Axians. Gundams. Other robots. Organics. What was the point to living if you were simply always designated to be second-best? When at first you were made to be number one?

Sazabi fell from grace, as she did. Not because he was replaced, like she had been. Because in the Dark Axis, turning to the world  _or_ away could change everything.

Kikeroga, tired as they always were, once had her alone in the Fold chamber. Before their death. Before Nightingale was  _second_.

“There are always new beginnings,” they said. “For everyone. The lowest zako grunt to the Gerbera himself, maybe. It has yet to be seen what the Dark Axis is truly capable of, beyond the destruction of worlds.”

Nightingale had been fragged  _up_ so many times in her career as a slave, and that was what she was — a slave. They all were. Now Kikeroga’s words truly made sense, especially when he omitted the General from the last words they said to her. There was no sense in being loyal to a slave driver like the General. No one asked to be a Commander. Qubeley could be sickeningly gentle with her beloved Doga Bomber swarm. Bawoo was an artist. Krieger was a damn  _bookworm._ Nightingale… she was good with her hands. Could put things together that were small that not even the zakos could figure out. She had a puzzle box that was confiscated from a pile of stone corpses in Nucleus, and she had gotten the solve time down to less than a minute even without her battle computer. She could assemble and disassemble different guns that she found and confiscated from Gundams she slain, just to see how they worked. The Commanders were perfect killing machines but they were still  _people_.

Now they were being slaughtered.

What had happened to Sazabi to make him turn against them? What mental defect had overtaken him to the point where he would turn over a new beginning — his eventual  _end_ — and go against two hundred years of obedience? All just to save some worthless  _humans?_ How carelessly would the other Axians try to write him out of their history for doing what he did? They were trying to write her out as well: why should she let them get away with wronging both of them? 

Sazabi wasn’t an idiot. A fool maybe, but not an idiot. He wasn’t a prisoner on Neotopia after the invasion. The humans had taken him in. They convinced him that there was a different way to what General Zeong had given them. He wised up, just like her. He played leader for another team, and still stood to be relevant in the face of destruction. Being made to be the jester, an outcast. Even loved by the organics, if that were at all possible.

Nightingale hated and respected her brother. And he had reason to turn over a new beginning, then she did, too.

**x**

“Nightingale!? NIGHTINGALE! Nighttime, _get back here!”_ Bawoo’s voice was shrill and choked. Had he been wounded? Crying?

She couldn’t see the others. As far as she was concerned, Frost would have died by now and Bawoo was likely on his way to following behind. Zssa and Krieger was still melting in the pool from her vantage point as she ascended. Z’Gok was almost gone and Qubeley was nowhere to be seen. Thrusters full blast, she plowed through droves of dogas not fast enough to get out of her way. She could see Zeong’s darting optics following her motions as she climbed higher, slashing and bludgeoning anyone who came too close.

Gerbera’s voice was mocking. “Running, Nightingale? How original.”

“No!” She whirled around, tesla cannon fully charged. She had used the ascent to disguise that she was prepping it to fire. “Just getting a better vantage point.”

She released the charge. The beam surged downward, a thunderbolt cleaving the stale air.

She hadn’t been aiming for Gerbera.

The dogas caught in her path were killed in five seconds flat. The blunt of the blast surged down, filling the air with static not unlike the pollution storm swirling beyond the walls of the chamber prison that would have been their tomb. It hit its mark. Zeong was struck dead on. A flash of light cloaked the room and flashed binary and static in Nightingale's vision. Gerbera _shouted_.

The light died down. Nightingale, in her cool-down period, struggled to see past the smoke and...!

Nightingale shrieked, distraught. This was...! “No. Impossible!”

Zeong had sustained no damage. As the smoke cleared, and her vision returned to normal, it was evident to Nightingale that the blast had somehow been... absorbed. Anomalous as the Fortress was, she wondered if their Master had an element of mystery to match. Slowly, deliberately, the General’s optics turned to look at her. They aligned at once, forming one, which stared her down with a sensation of mocking. He began to laugh.

Their Master was a God. There was no other way he could have survived. She had made a grave mistake.

(No. You protected the Fold. This is all you could have done.) 

(Kikeroga would have been pleased.)

“Don’t act so surprised!” Gerbera was on her moments later. In her surprise, fans screaming to cool herself down, she hadn’t been able to move. He opened fire and shot out one of her thrusters. She immediately lost lift, starting to plummet. Two more shots and her HUD lit up with warnings. A fuel line was cut. A vital processor piece was destroyed as one of the plasma bursts struck her in the head — not enough to kill, but enough to incapacitate. The doga Bombers moved in next, never staying close long enough for her to lash out with all four arms. She was riddled with bullet holes. A shot pierced her armor and ricocheted through her engine block. The shot was close to fatal, but not quite.

Zeong’s hand caught her. Gripped her tightly, holding her in His fist, crushing to the point where she couldn’t even scream.

“Nightingale!” Frost’s voice cut through the chaos. _“Nighttime!”_

Below, she could see dogas land, advancing on a pile of rubble: where Frost and Bawoo were hidden. A few stray shots came out from behind the wreckage to indicate that Frost and Bawoo were fighting back, but for how long? The Color Guard Agents were circling around back, ready to ambush. Nightingale couldn’t scream to warn them. Her vocalizer was cracked. She could only croak above a whisper. Her end of the Newtype Network was being blocked by a force her firewalls couldn’t identify. Zeong was done playing games with them. He wanted to feed and nothing would stop him.

“Of all my creations, you were always the most troublesome. Granted, that was an impressive stunt,” Gerbera hovered into view. His armor was chipped. Someone, somewhere, had managed to graze him with one of their weapons. Nightingale would never know who. “You usually don’t take initiative like that yourself.”

Nightingale wished she had the capacity to spit. She flared her optic, opened her emergency oral hatch on the cue of some hidden instinct in her programming to hiss at him.

Gerbera had a strange reaction. He cocked his head. “You’re not going to ask why? They usually do that.”

“You’re used to betraying people, then.” She flashed her optic brighter. “I don’t need to ask. Whatever Sazabi did to make you so angry, I’m sure it was a _good reason.”_

“Interesting. So being faced with destruction has made you  _courageous._ ” Gerbera turned away.

Nightingale roared. “I hope he comes back from the dead a second time and  _slaughters_ you, worm.”

Zeong released her. She plummeted.

 _“NO!”_ Frost’s voice, again, dismayed.

It was bizarre. To think they usually bickered and even despised each other. Nightingale was going to miss Frost. Bawoo. Thinking about the others, she was missing them too. They hadn’t been much. The Dark Axis had no functional need for friends, but they were something. Siblings? Family? The idea that they would mourn for her seemed less unlikely now.

Nightingale could feel the heat of the acid pit on her back as she fell closer.

“New beginnings,” Nightingale said, and offlined her optical feed.

Here laid to rest, her love ever low.

She let the scalding heat of oblivion welcome her home.

[. . .](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmo_rNeILMY&feature=youtu.be)


	16. Captain Gundam

**It’s all a game, avoiding failure when true colors will bleed.**

**All in the name of misbehavior and the things we don’t need.**

**And more than ever, we hope to never fall**

**Where enough is not the same it was before.**

**In all this turmoil, before red cave and foil**

**come closing in for a kill.**

**Come feed the rain.**

**i**

_Attention: a POTENTIAL (1) Runtime Error has been detected_. _As of now, there is no need to restart the program. Lines: 2. Origin: UNDETERMINED._

_I know you._

He saw it in the other mech’s Soul Drive, when he was trapped in the negative zone. He didn’t see the device for himself, in person, but he  _knew_ it was there. It was as clear as the familiar message that flashed in the corner of his HUD, beyond the standard damage warnings. He was hurt — bad. Alarms were screaming at him to engage stasis lock or risk further injury, but nothing could disguise that second Soul Drive from him. Fighting Sazabi made him aware of what to “look” for. It was in his energy signature, his very aura, the flash of purple light behind the pseudo-chassis disguise when Shute smashed his way through the barrier...

He saw  _everything_. He saw past the armor, past the agonized sphere in his chest, past the layers of profound  _rage_ cast out through the Gerbera System...

His name was Madnug.

(A lost ship. A spacebridge. A destroyed transwarp drive.)

 _I_ absolutely  _know you._

 _Attention: a POTENTIAL (1) RuntiMe Error has bEen detected_. _As of now, there is no need to restarT the progrAm. Lines: 2. Origin: UNDETERMINE_d/black._

He was still considered young at less than two years old, but he wasn’t a child: far from it. Robots did not age in the way humans did, and he was no exception. He had been created to repel invaders. He had special dispensation to use otherwise illegal firearms. He was built to withstand the kind of assaults that could kill any other mobile citizen. He was an adult, in an adult-esque position of power, and he had a approximate knowledge of the world as it related to him. He understood the gravity of his purpose in Neotopia, to protect the colony from whatever anomaly came to threaten it. He was Neotopia’s designated first defense against the Dark Axis. It was what he was built for: his prime directive. Purpose.

(Along the way, he made friends. Not in the original plan, but a pleasant side-effect of existing nonetheless.)

It wasn’t until recently that he realized that there were things he  _wasn’t_ made aware of. For example? The exact nature of the Dark Axis. He was pre-programmed with the knowledge that they were the enemy, but  _how_ they presented themselves as such was something he had to learn on his own. They weren’t destroyers for the sake of destruction, as he had been told. They were nomadic. Pillagers. They sought out resources and to “liberate” machines from organics. That wasn’t destruction in entirety: there was an element of  _creation_ there as well.

Even if Captain was born with knowledge pre-loaded into his processing banks, he had to learn to feel the world out for himself. He had come a long way from that late summer afternoon he met Shute. And he knew he would come a longer way still, after meeting  
  
Madnug  
  
Professor Gerbera, chief technical officer of the Dark Axis.

_I know you, for sure._

_Attention: a POTENTIAL (1111111) RUntiMe ErROR has bEen DEtECTed_. _As of nOW, there is NO NEED to REstarT the ProgrAm. Lines: 2x13/2. Origin: HOW COULD IT TURN BLACK?_

An impossibility, by one hundred and six point nine percent. No, wait... another impossibility? He made a scan of his processor, shoving his way past countless warning pings. A diagnostic revealed that his hard math-drivers were overheating. The numbers he relied upon to make statistical judgements were all wrong, coming back too high or too low beyond his standard parameters. His firewalls could do nothing to protect him from the hijacking he suffered by the infiltration of the Gerbera System. Not even the Captain System was so invasive. Too many things in his brain were coming back from computing askew. Had the uninvited guest broken something, or was this what  _shock_ was supposed to feel like? His head hurt. His CPU was eating through too much memory and disk space. RAM couldn’t be allocated to reduce the strain on his drives. He was frozen in place, staring into his own processor as he struggled to understand what the

Gundam

Axian soldier had meant, saying the things he had. Trying to recruit him.

_I know, for sure, that you and I and you and I and you and I and you and I_

“Captain?” At first he thought it was the Professor again, but his optics adjusted and he realized that he had already retreated. Shute was looking at him, hands suspended, unsure what to do to help him.

The GP-01 was exhausted. Not even the battle with Sazabi had made him so  _tired_. Shute’s voice could no longer energize him. The Soul Drive was too drained in the presence of another dark twin, colder than even Commander Sazabi. Captain Gundam pitched backward. The floor of the _Gundam Musai_ raced up to meet his broken body.

**. . .**

The air was stale with the  _smell_ of the Horn of War. Hours after it had been established, the chemical reaction that had caused the alien metal to expand from the  _Magna Musai_ was still potent in the air. It reminded him of rust filings and gasoline. Smog clogged his olfactory sensors. The toxicity couldn’t have been good for the humans, especially Shute, who was beside him. A mandatory trip to the hospital would be required after this was over. If it would be over. If they could win.

No. They would win. They… did win?

_You have done this before._

Something in his processor clicked. A bizarre error message appeared in his vision.

 _Attention: a POTENTIAL (1) Runtime Error has been detected_. _As of now, there is no need to restart the program. Lines: 1. Origin: UNDETERMINED._

Captain acknowledged the error, and it dissipated from view on its own.

There was a furious rumble from a collapsing “thorn” on the lip of the Horn of War. Port-side, twenty yards across. The damaged metal gave way and fell forward, shattering across the deck of the platform and scattering debris. Commander Sazabi rose from the cloud of dust, optic ablaze, rising with rage. “How dare you destroy my Horn of War!”

Captain Gundam stood his ground, letting his newly returned Soul Drive re-calibrate in his chest. Ring RPM was stabalized and returning to standard orbit. The fire burning within was still roaring with a seventy-six point three percent output. Someone behind him, somewhere, shouted his name. Bakunetsumaru?

But something was still. Wrong.

_You have DONE this before._

The same error came back. Incessant.

 _Attention: a POTENTIAL (1) Runtime Error has been detected_. _As of now, there is no need to restart the program. Lines: 1. Origin: UNDETERMINED._

Impossible. Captain had never been in a position of repelling Commander Sazabi before today. Neotopia had never been invaded in such a heavy capacity. The city had never endured a widespread petrification. The dark sky, Horn of War stage, and scattered remains of Doga Bombers shot down too close screamed a semblance of familiarity to him.

 _Attention: a POTENTIAL (1) Runtime Error has been detected_. _As of now, there is no need to restart the program. Lines: 1. Origin: UNDETERMINED._

Captain tried to block the program. He ran his task manager and attempted to locate what was UNDETERMINED. Absolutely nothing came up in his search. A glitch in his code, resulting from being separated from the Soul Drive too long? Possible, but not probable. The fire in his chest was burning strong. There was no error in the functionality of his Determination.

“I have been granted special dispensation to use firearms to protect Neotopia. My name is Captain Gundam of Gundam Force.”

“And special member, Shute!  _Busted!”_

Sazabi continued to glare them down, now descended on the lip of what was once the  _Magna Musai’s_  cabin. He stood proud, wing armaments spread and his energy signature swirling with murderous intent. The Commander was going to be his toughest opponent yet.

“Dark Axis forces, you must retreat from Neotopia!” Captain raised his weapon, aiming it at the Commander. “Immediately!”

The deja vu was palpable.

Captain switched off the safety on his assault rifle.

This was going to be a rough fight.

**ii**

The GP-01 Captain Gundam woke up.

His first concern was that Shute was not nearby, followed by the activation of his battle computer and processing software. It was a hard reboot. The last time  _that_ had happened, he had taken a hit from Ashuramaru on the bridge and woken up to Cobramaru menacing the SDG’s satellite junction cable. Months ago, but now felt like a lifetime. He hadn’t even had a hard reboot during the invasion. That was... something else. Entirely.

(It was still hard to describe floating in nothing the way he had when his Soul Drive was stolen. Science and math couldn’t explain that. Neither could Kao Lyn when he described it to him. Shute told him not to dwell on it, all that mattered was that he was okay! He doubted he would ever get the answer he needed.)

The Gundam’s optics adjusted to the light and his vision-center came back on. The lag was tolerable, but not ideal. He was in a white room on a cot. A large bay window to his right revealed fluffy mountains of cumulus. Blanc Base.

He remembered being transported from the _Gundam Musai_. He —  _they_ — were back in Neotopia.

_Where is Shute?_

Captain tested his systems in one half of his processor while the other struggled to determine Shute’s location. The boy’s backpack had a tracer in it, but even alone it wasn’t necessary to “find” the boy. The Soul Drive would be able to sense him. Allocating his higher CPU function to extend his reach, he felt for where the boy could have been. His drives ticked through more and more functions, running a full—

Crash.

The error was a shock to him. He had  _never_ endured a full software crash before. Ever. It just didn’t  _happen_ to him. His running suite was too advanced for it: in the event that he over-processed, he could allocate to smaller sub-discs to deal with heavy information loads. He had done significantly more processing during his battle with the Commander than now, with no problem. The sensation that followed the crash was a throbbing headache with whatever must have been the equivalent of panic. It was not a nice feeling. Captain tried again, the exact millisecond his processors were back online—

Another crash. The stress of not knowing  _where Shute was where is he_ assaulted his processor. He ran a system diagnostic and was horrified. His battle computer was destroyed. All but two drivers, the one reserved for when he used to have his civilian-mode, and the one for the Captain System, were the only pieces of computing hardware that hadn’t been completely  _fried._

The Captain System was a non-invasive link system, but the Gerbera System? Whatever it was, it had crippled him.

The GP-01 wracked his memory banks, trying not to overwork his software, desprete to remember where Shute might be. Another crash would make him panic. This had never happened to him before... he remembered collapsing. Chief Haro’s voice, indicating that they would be transporting them out of the Minov, one at a time. The voices of his friends, debating who had priority to go first. Shute’s voice insisting that  _Captain_ be sent, because _Captain is hurt_. Captain remembered waking up, saying something to Shute, trying his best not to let on how injured he really  _was_ being loaded onto a platform, and then…

WHERE IS SHUTE?

Crash.

_“The humans are not like us, Captain. We will never be able to trust them!”_

_“I do trust humans! And I trust my friend Shute.”_

_“Oh really_? _Look!”_

The image of Shute skipping away to the elevator choked on the flame in his Soul Drive. It was uncomfortable. Captain knew what the word for it was, but trying to associate that word with his best friend was harder than than trying to bypass the errors popping up in his HUD. No more runtime errors, at least. He tried to push past the messages clouding his exhausted processor. Shute should have  _been_ there, waiting for him to wake up. Shute should have…!

His Soul Drive felt it before the rest of him did. Hurt. Ached the same way it had after his battle with the Commander by days.

It was another hour before anyone realized he was awake, suffering in silence. The panic and terror of trying to locate the now-missing crew of the  _Gundam Musai_ had taken precedence over Blanc Base’s staff. It was another hour after that before Chief Haro arrived to give him the bad news: After teleporting him back to Neotopia, the _Gundam Musai_ had been attacked. It was now presumed destroyed and no one could find the crew. In the meantime, a cloud felt like it had settled over Captain’s Soul Drive.

_He’s already abandoned you._

**. . .**

The air was stale with the  _smell_ of the Horn of War. Hours after it had been established, the chemical reaction that had caused the alien metal to expand from the  _Magna Musai_ was still potent in the air. It reminded him of rust filings and gasoline. Smog clogged his olfactory sensors. The toxicity couldn’t have been good for the humans, especially Shute, who was beside him. A mandatory trip to the hospital would be required after this was over. If it would be over. If they could win.

No. They would win. They… did win?

_You have— wait._

_Attention: a POTENTIAL (1) Runtime Error has been detected_. _As of now, there is no need to restart the program. Lines: 1/2. Origin: UNDETERMINED._

There was a furious rumble from a collapsing “thorn” on the lip of the Horn of War. Port-side, twenty yards across. The damaged metal gave way and fell forward, shattering across the deck of the platform. Commander Sazabi rose from the cloud of dust, optic ablaze, rising ominously. “How dare you ruin my Horn of War!”

Captain Gundam stood his ground, letting his newly returned Soul Drive recalibrate in his chest. Ring RPM was stabalized and returning to standard orbit. The fire burning within was still roaring with a seventy-six point three percent output. Someone behind him, somewhere, shouted his name. Bakunetsumaru, most definitely.

_What…?_

“I have been granted special dispensation to use firearms to protect Neotopia. My name is Captain Gundam of Gundam Force.”

“And special member, Shute!  _Busted!”_

An alarm whirled at Captain inside his head. Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Too familiar. Sazabi continued to glare them down, now fully descended in front of what was once the  _Magna Musai’s_  cabin, by five feet.

 _Attention: a POTENTIAL (1) Runtime Error has been detected_. _As of now, there is no need to restart the program. Lines: 1/2. Origin: UNDETERMINED._

That same error on his HUD. He tried to disassemble it and find out what it meant. He didn’t get far. It was a running program in his logic center that dictated the problem, and that it definitely existed  _as_ a problem, but was unable to identify. The code line _1/2_ should not have even existed, mathematically speaking.

“Dark Axis forces, you must retreat from Neotopia!” Captain raised his weapon, aiming it at the Commander. “Immediately!”

The deja vu was palpable.

Captain hesitated before switching the safety off his assault rifle.

This was going to be a rough fight.

**iii**

“I want to see Commander Sazabi.”

Guneagle came to visit him. All the Gundivers (soon to be modified, though they were secretive on what their new title was going to be) tried to pile in during visiting hours, as well. Gunbike, now Gunpanzer, tried to cram his way into the wing to visit with zeal. Then he had to be removed with the help of maintenance staff when he got himself stuck in the door, exactly like everyone knew he would. Juli, Bellwood, and even the Mayor and her aides made their rounds. Markus Ray was one of the last to arrive and could not stay long. His cell phone kept ringing. Work related issues, he apologized. Keiko would be up to visit soon, thank you for watching out for our son, you’re the best.

The thought passed through Captain’s mind: there was one person in Neotopia who he  _hadn’t_ seen yet. He was also in the hospital. Just a few doors down, actually.

“Yes, I want to see Commander Sazabi.”

Physically, Captain Gundam was recovering. He had the same surgeon as Commander Sazabi, a Dr. Elizabeth Keene. She arrived in his room with a binder full of schematics and an actual piece of the part of his processor that needed to be cut out. She only showed it to him with permission. He gave it to her. He wasn’t squeamish: he hadn’t been programmed that way.

“By comparison, your procedure was much less jarring than the Commander’s,” the surgeon said. She looked tired. “Not quite life or death, but we didn’t want to risk anything after the kind of encounter you had. It’s one thing to have the entire inside of your head fry because of a crash landing. It’s another to have someone attack it so  _personally_. The mech that went after you used an adminstrative dummy-code to bypass your own admin access over your hardware. A software approach would have set off firewalls, but this was too direct for you to have noticed until it was too late. From there he duplicated his own virus to infect multiple systems at once.”

Keene held up twisted piece of melted plastic and metal.

“This was your device manager. The original one, anyways. We have a temporary replacement in your head now, but this was Kao Lyn’s model so you could have such high functionality. While Gerbera was attacking your logic center, battle computer,  _and_ pain-pleasure drivers, you sabotaged your own hardware to try and cut him off. It worked, but the damage you did was too much to reverse. Kao Lyn is producing a replacement now. You just need to take it easy for now.”

There were only two things Captain Gundam got from that conversation. One was that Professor Gerbera knew too much. His Soul Drive felt it in the way Dr. Keene spoke to him. She was worried.  _Horrified_ , even. He was a top secret experiment, and very few people understood what made him “tick” with the inclusion of the Soul Drive. It affected his processor in ways no one at the SDG had been prepared for. He was created to have a high threshold for pain, but not  _so high that he could endure limb removal, while conscious._ Yes, it made customizing him to have a civilian-mode and compatibility with the Re-Equip Ring easier. Yes, it made sending him into battle twelve point four seconds faster when he didn’t have to power down for as long (powering down wasn’t even  _necessary_ , it was just considered more  _humane_ ).

But Gerbera had somehow known that, so he did his best to  _hurt_ Captain as effectively as possible. His limbs could detach at the joints and close off the sensor-ports to tourniquet pain-data, but Gebera had gone out of his way to cut apart Captain’s arm just below that. He assaulted the parts of him that couldn’t simply “turn off” any of his receptors at the first sign of damage. Gerbera knew too much about him, when the Super Dimensional Guard still understood so little. That was frightening. A near full body upgrade was going to be necessary, to fix the damage. The parts to fix his processor were pending. It would be awhile before he saw battle again.

The second item he got from the conversation was that Commander Sazabi was next door to him. Captain had been so honed on reading negative Soul Drive energy, he never detected the  _warmth_ coming just across the hallway. So unfamiliar, too recognizable.

Two days into recovery, Kao Lyn finally arrived to see his own creation. He had a valid excuse for being so late. The old man sounded so deflated. “Between you  _and_ Sazabi...”

“Please.” Captain felt his Soul Drive miss a rotation. After asking so many times, he was on the verge of begging. “I  _need_ to see Commander Sazabi.”

Walking was a chore. The exhaustion was deeper than physical. As much damage had been repaired as possible, but he still moved with a noticeable limp. Dr. Keene was good at her job, but there was only so much that could be done when his current body was going to need such an extended overhaul. As Captain Gundam made it through the doors into the infirmary with Kao Lyn spotting him, a mechanical whine vibrated through the air. The red funnel floating above the Commander turned on a dime mid-patrol, evaluated, and then rocketed forward. Its path was casting. It shoved its way into Captain’s arms into his arms and dropped itself there. It’s antigravs deactivated and the GP-01 stumbled. The funnel shuttered wildly.

A male nurse tried to remove the offending monstrosity by shooing it away. It continued to harass Captain for thirty seconds before another nurse slammed a banana crate on it. Humans emotions were fascinating, because Captain never imagined it possible for someone to sit-on-a-box-with-exasperation.

“We’ve been calling it Noodles.” Bellwood said. He looked up from what he was doing for only a second. “How you feeling, Captain?”

“Noodles.” Captain stared at him.

Bellwood shrugged.  _“You_  try working with a gun floating over your head while you work.”

“So you designated the gun as  _Noodles.”_

“Forget Noodles. You wanted to see Sazabi, so here he is.”

And spread all over the room in a gruesome display. Parts were everywhere, scattered almost every surface. Kao Lyn was doing some serious maintenance, trying to get the Commander back to the point where he could be in working capacity. The mech’s legs were stripped to the base components, the ruined pieces of metal being replaced with reinforced Gundaniam plates. A quick scan with his non-battling elements told him that the Commander may walk with a slight limp, if he ever recovered. Something he would no doubt be able to hide, given his already heavy gait. But Captain would notice.

The Gundam focused on his intakes. “He’s intubated. Mecha do not need to breathe.”

“His internals are still having trouble expelling heat. We’re replacing the fans tomorrow, so maybe we can get him off the cooling-respirator by Friday.” Bellwood’s tone changed. He could tell Captain was disturbed. “He’s been through hell and back. I know you saw the original pictures, but it was way worse in person. So much worse.”

Captain continued to stare. Commander Sazabi’s jaw was still broken, opened wide and braced with metal bars to keep the air tubes in place. His optic had been repaired too, but seeing it so dark made it hard to look at. The most striking piece of the Commander that had been repaired was his bright red chassis. No detail work done on it yet, but its accuracy to the original was testament to Kao Lyn’s designer prowess. Above it, supported by two braces on either side of the gurney, was a small “cage” covering an important piece of equipment. Captain felt the energy radiating from it and was  _stunned_. There was no way it was the same item he had picked up during the invasion.

Bellwood noticed his gaze and shuffled. “We had to install that. We take it off at night, but it was getting too bright to work in here.”

Kao Lyn put his hands on his shoulders. “Perhaps you would like to go back to your room now? I could run a few tests to see how your processor is doing. I’m sure Bellwood has everything covered here.”

“Covered as much as possible. Rewiring all these sensor nodes by hand is taking crazy long. This guy is  _huge.”_

“I would like to stay with the Commander for awhile longer, if that is possible,” Captain said.

Commander Sazabi didn’t have friends like Shute. He didn’t have people that came to visit him in the same capacity that Captain Gundam’s extended family and friends had. Did Guneagle, Juli, and all the rest bring Sazabi flowers and get well cards? The table next the red mech was bare beside charts and schematics with notes crammed in-between lines of permanent marker, pen, and pencil.

**. . .**

The air was stale with the  _smell_ of the Horn of War. Hours after it had been established, the chemical reaction that had caused the alien metal to expand from the  _Magna Musai_ was still potent in the air. It reminded him of rust filings and gasoline. Smog clogged his olfactory sensors. The toxicity couldn’t have been good for the humans, especially Shute, who was beside— 

Captain snapped to attention. “STOP THAT.”

Shute flinched beside him, taking a step back. “Captain?”

 _Attention: a POTENTIAL (1) Runtime Error has been detected_. _As of now, there is no need to restart the program. Lines: 1/4. Origin: UNDETERMINED._

Captain Gundam shook with rage. “We already DID this, Commander! _What did you DO?”_

“How dare you damage my Horn of War!” Sazabi rose up from the cloud of dust cast off by the collapsed thorn piece. His engine roared and he hovered, casting his shadow across them from the light of the projector shining in the sky. “What have  _I_ done? How dare you act so insolent towards me!”

He reached an optimum height, and then Captain opened fire. No announcement about being granted special dispensation. He had  _done that_ already. The city below let out a shout of shock and terror. Shute screamed and fell backwards. Zero and Bakunetsumaru were both shouting his name.

A new runtime flashed in his HUD this time. Something even more undetermined had occurred.

 _Attention: a SERIOUS (2) Runtime Error has been detected_. _Lines: 1/4. Origin: SOMEWHERE._

The Commander came crashing down as one of his antigravs was struck. The blow had been too unexpected, even for him. Captain was already speeding forward before he could get his vulcan cannon online or activate his speed-boosted flight mode. He had never seen in person, but the Gundam  _knew_ they were there. He had to make sure to watch out for the Commander’s hidden beam weapons on his hands. Again, something he had never seen, but the knowledge it was there was  _obvious_. He had seen them, without ever actually seeing them.

Sazabi was too heavy and the height of the fall was too great. He came down and something in his right leg shattered. He looked up, straight at him. The aperture in his optic narrowed in shock. Both of them had reacted in panic.

“What did you  _do?”_  The Commander’s voice was quiet.

Captain opened fire, close range. The bullets tore through his chassis and something inside shattered. The sound of broken glass scraping metal, louder than any bullet leaving the chamber of his gun. The Axian buckled, bowed, and was not able to summon the capacity to fire his scattering lasers. Captain skidded aside before the Commander could charge his vulcan cannon, grabbing the huge mech’s chin and swinging himself up onto his shoulders.

He tore Sazabi’s head clean off his neck, and the battle ended before it even started.

 _Warning: a FATAL (3) Runtime Error has been detected_. _A full scenario reboot is necessary. Lines: 1/4 — 001. Origin: YOU’RE IN FOR A BAD TIME, BUDDY._

**iv**

The Captain System had been designed as a means to link the mobile citizens of Neotopia to Captain Gundam, in the event of a catastrophic control horn episode. It was experimental technology: nothing of its magnitude was even considered until Zero brought news of the Dark Axis with him from Lacroa. Noah Bright would have “rolled in his grave” at the thought of something so  _totalitarian_ sounding, Kao Lyn said. But it was a necessary evil: Zero’s interrogation had brought on horrifying image of Lacroa and what effect the control horns had on it. Knight Gundam squires losing their minds and attacking villages, slaughtering anyone who wasn’t similarly tagged. Gunhorses and other mechanized beasts turning on their masters, mauling and clawing and biting. A tier four spirit beast known as the Leviathan had been hooked with three control horns when it attacked Lacroa Castle, using an underwater passage linking the canyon to the ocean. Battol was assumed killed and Nataku was nearly cleaved in two from a bladed tendril. Rock managed to stop its rampage only on accident. Deed went missing during the battle and reappeared hours later. No one knew where he had gone off to. Zero insisted that whatever it was, it had to have been important. He believed in his fellow Royal Knights.

Control horns could be dispatched by destroying them, but in the event that there were too many for the SDG to remove? The Captain System was intended to patch into all the mobile citizens and stop whatever signal the horns delivered. A satellite in space served as an extra server for Captain Gundam to access as a major computing port. The same satellite also sent a signal to repeaters surrounding Neotopia Tower, making sure the broadcast was as concentrated as possible.

Being able to link with all those mobile citizens, at once, had yielded results beyond deactivating the control horns. He  _saw_ them too, as they were supposed to be. Every single one.

Captain Gundam knew he came across as impassive, sometimes. He hadn’t exactly left a good first impression on Shute. It wasn’t because he was doing it on purpose: the Soul Drive interacted with his processor in a way that no one could explain. Captain had a fully functioning emotional and personality-suite, the same as any other mobile citizen in Neotopia. Guneagle had a randomized codec that functioned a little  _too_ well, come to think of it. It was determined that the Soul Drive was dampening his personality, although the extent couldn’t be measured in equations. With age, Captain started to clear the hurdles that once faced him. But that couldn’t stop him from seeing — understanding — all the mobile citizens he linked up to when the Captain System was green.

Leonardo, one of the mayor’s aides. Terrified he would never see Prio again. Frightened that he had hit him without a second thought before joining the crowds of other marching GMs. Cowering in the corner of his own mind. He had never cried before in his life. He wanted to cry now. He was too scared, so scared. Someone stop me. I don’t want to do this.

Rossi, an interior designer for business outlets. Horrified that he remembered throwing his human spouse to the pavement before peeling off with the others. Furious —  _enraged_ — that he was also allowing himself to “enjoy” this. Enjoy what? The loss of control? Lashing out against the humans? He was alive when Reclamation Centers existed.  _Let_ the humans run in terror, some of them fucking deserved it. Yeah, this wasn’t so bad.

Fairweather, not hitched with a control horn but still a presence Captain Gundam passed over in the Brain World. She was hiding in an office inside of Neotopia Tower, two floors above the floor where several GMs with  _The Blazing Samurai_ film crew had taken refuge with Mayor Margret. The sadness that tore through her was more than she could take. She barricaded herself under her desk and tried to call and text her friends. Where are you? Someone, anyone, answer me! Oh my god, this is It. This is The End. I never got to even use my degree. I don’t want to die alone.

Cassandra. Xander. Francis. Reno. Mika. Sampson. Otto. Skidstop. Tuffle. Yonder. Nathan. Bracer.

He knew every single one of them now.

There was no way for the current version of the Captain System to gain access to the Brain World of Axians. Even after investigating the bodies of dead Doga Bombers post-invasion, there wasn’t much for Kao Lyn to work with… and even if there was, Kao Lyn had lines he dared not cross. Consent was important to him. It was part of the reason why he refused to work with Robo House. He was not below ripping a mech’s CPU out of their head and dissecting the still working pieces to see what he could learn. You couldn’t do that to a human person — why would you ever consider doing it to a mechanical one? With work on an Axian integrated version of the Captain System on hold, Captain Gundam could only imagine what he would have found if the capacity was there. The bagu bagu was a trap that he was intended to find and get lost in, but what about Zakos? The Dogas? What about Commander Sazabi himself? What would he have found?  
  
More important, what would he have found now?

Commander Sazabi had taken another hard turn. Not a full systems failure, but a waning that was too uncomfortable to ignore. His new engine was not taking well. There was too little of it, and too much of  _him_. As powerful as it was, it still could not be enough. Captain watched the commotion from down the hallway. He was supposed to be in recharge, but the energy cast out by the Commander’s Soul Drive kept him awake. How could he explain that to Kao Lyn without alarming him that he could  _feel_ it? There wasn’t enough known about how the Soul Drive could interact with another one of its kind. It was tired. It had spent so long comatose, and now that it was finally starting to be  _awake_ its body was dying.

It wasn’t a Captain System, but he tried to reach out to it with his own Soul Drive regardless. You’re okay. Hang in there.

The once dark twin burst with light. It’s illumination blasted through the open doors of the Commander’s room and left no shadows. The rogue funnel seized and dropped to the floor in the hallway where it had been banished to, spamsing wildly.

It wasn’t a mystery that Captain Gundam would have found an overwhelmingly dark presence if he had accessed the Commander on the day of the invasion. Now? Now Captain wasn’t so sure  _what_ he would have found, but if there was something he could do to help, he would have smashed his way through a thousand more control horns to do so.

**. . .**

The air was stale with the  _smell_ of the Horn of War. Hours after it had been established, the chemical reaction that had caused—

 _Attention: a POTENTIAL (1) Runtime Error has been detected_. _As of now, there is no need to restart the program. Lines: 1/7. Origin: UNDETERMINED._

Captain  _shouted_ , speeding forward as soon as the phantom sensation of  _too many memories_ struck him. Shute called out for him in terror. Sazabi barely lifted away from the pillar he had slammed into in time to avoid the careening Gundam.

“So eager to meet your doom, Gundam?” Sazabi cocked his head haughtily. The same one that Captain remembered, vividly, tearing off and tosing aside. But Sazabi’s voice was terse. He hadn’t expected the Gundam to reactivate so quickly, rebound so fast after having his Soul Drive replaced. “How—?”

 _Attention: a SERIOUS (2) Runtime Error has been detected_. _Lines: 1/7. Origin:???.exe_

Captain shook and fired a barrage of bullets into Sazabi’s throat. The Commander’s head snapped back and fluid burst through one of the exit holes. Some kind of coolant line had been severed. The Axian mech plummeted into the top of the Magna Musai’s helm. The optical “window” shattered from the force of the impact and the projector was destroyed. The mech struggled to move, but only the left side retained functionality. The scattering lasers that managed to fire off missed their mark by meters. Captain launched himself at the Commander, drawing his pepsaber and aiming for his chest. The dark presence within goaded its own destruction. As the beam pierced, Sazabi reached up with his still working hand to claw at the Gundam’s own chest. That awful sad optic flared in confusion. The Soul Drive screamed in a mixture of triumph and agony, the flame danced in suffering.

 _Warning: a FATAL (3) Runtime Error has been detected_. _A full scenario reboot is necessary. Lines: 1/7 — 004. Origin: MAYBE_   _YOU’RE NOT READY FOR THE RESPONSIBILITY?_

Commander Sazabi died, and Captain Gundam couldn’t comprehend why he felt like he died too.

**v**

Four days after his arrival, and Shute and the others were still missing. They should have sent someone — anyone — other than him. At least then he could have been with his friend and known where he was. The unknown was killing him.

(Don’t ever think killed.)

Captain didn’t knock before entering Kao Lyn’s workshop. Although he had grown accustomed for giving Shute the courtesy of knocking because he asked for it once (so long ago, way too long ago), Kao Lyn did not need that extension. Captain knew he was always welcome. The lead engineer of the SDG was eccentric and didn’t let just  _anyone_ into his work space, but his own creations? The energy scanner above the door let him pass with no issue whatsoever. The door would have remained closed for any other GM or SDG employee, sans Bellwood. The Gundams’ own electronic-stamp acted as a personal all-access clearance key.

“I want to see my blueprints.”

He felt bad for disturbing Kao Lyn. The man had been working nonstop for since he arrived, both on him and Commander Sazabi’s new bodies. Seeing so much red, white, and blue mixed together on the work tables was strange. The last time Captain had seen their bits intermingled, it had been on the Horn of War while they were busy punching each other to pieces. Despite the interruption, the old human was quick to gather exactly what Captain was looking for. The blueprints Kao Lyn summoned from his filing cabinet were on proper paper rather than the usual holo-disc.

“They  _are_ digital, but this is the copy I always keep on hand. In case of emergencies,” Kao Lyn said. “Sometimes it’s just easier to rip something off the shelf, rather than search through a computer.”

There was that, but Captain Gundam knew Kao Lyn very well. He was a lot like Shute, actually: he liked keeping his creations close, for the same reason Shute kept all those early drawings of him still pinned on the walls of his shed.

 _GP-01 Captain Gundam: CHRONOS_ was typed in neat letters above the engineer schematics.

“Is that my name?” Captain looked at Kao Lyn. “Chronos?”

“It was your prototype title, yes. From a GM who used to work for the SDG.” Kao Lyn actually sat down. There were no meditative poses — not when he was so exhausted, and he  _was_ exhausted. “It…  _could_ have been your name, too. When you were activated, you didn’t attach to it the way I was hoping. You were adamant that you stick to your title Captain Gundam instead.”

“I don’t remember anything like that.” Captain continued to scan over the blueprints, dedicating the entire schematic to memory. It occurred to him that his memory was actually  _very_ patchy. He couldn’t remember the day of his own activation. Was it because he thought it wasn’t important enough? That thought made his Soul Drive twist. Shute would have been upset with him for that. Forgetting his own “birthday?”

(Did Sazabi have a birthday? If so, when was it?)

As Kao Lyn returned to work, Captain stood stationary and reviewed his design. It was strange to think that he was going to get a full-scale upgrade soon: was there even a point to memorizing  _this_ schematic, if it was all going to be obsolete soon? There were highlighted sections pointing out the limb disengagement zones where the Re-Equip Ring was meant to replace parts. There was also a zoomed-in map of his processor and all the elements that made it work. Routers, mother boards, data chips, disc-readers... The longer he searched, the more obvious it became that something significant was left out. What he was looking for.

“The Soul Drive is not included,” Captain said.

Kao Lyn did not look up from his work. He was screwing something together: a piece of heavy-duty computing equipment. For Commander Sazabi. He hesitated for a moment mid-screw, resuming only after consideration. “No, it wasn’t. It was a… last minute addition.”

“Last minute?”

Captain judged Kao Lyn’s body language, and made the deduction easily. Too tense. He didn’t look up from his work.

“You did not make the Soul Drive yourself,” he said.

“Is this about you, or Commander Sazabi?”

Captain debated telling him about Professor Gerbera: how he  _saw_ the other mech’s Soul Drive. It was bad enough when they discovered  _Sazabi_ had one, but adding a third into the mix? When only one had ever been known to exist on Neotopia, and so little was known about it? Captain didn’t want to stress his creator out anymore than necessary to receive answers. “Yes.”

“No, I did not build the Soul Drive myself. And to be frank Captain, I don’t know  _how_ it was made. I can only speculate… when.”

“When?”

“More than two hundred years ago. It’s Old World technology from Earth, before the humans had to evacuate.” Kao Lyn set down his project. He looked over at the Gundam. Past those glasses, Captain felt that stare absolutely penetrate him. “It was found in some wreckage of the Neos One space station with an old transwarp drive and a… letter.”

“The contents of the letter?”

“A secret to be kept. Nothing that concerns you beyond the warning left about the Soul Drive. Given what’s happened, it might be high time for you to know.” Kao Lyn bowed his head. _“Be kind to the Soul Drive.”_

_The only way a Soul Drive can turn dark is not giving it human contact._

Without thinking, Captain scanned the rest of the documents on the table.

His optic caught sight of something. He pushed away several documents. Kao Lyn didn’t stop him.

Schematics.  _GP-04 Captain Gundam: MADNUG._

“I was going to wait for it to be a surprise,” Kao Lyn said. He had re-approached and saw Captain staring. “I’ve only started drafting ideas and getting the permits necessary to produce a proposal. It will still be many more years, but...”

“A sibling-unit?” Captain looked at Kao Lyn. Gunpanzer — first Gunbot — was a “parental” grade unit: old enough to be a direct predecessor, but not similar enough to warrant being the same production model. Guneagle and the Gundivers were cousins, having remarkably similar production-values but designed for much different purposes. To have a direct sibling, a unit based on his own design, would make this Madnug his first true direct-relative.

(Brother.)

“The GP-04 would be made for space exploration. After everything that’s happened, I… don’t want to make another soldier. I’ve robbed you of too much. Your original name. Any semblance of normalcy.”

“The Gundam Force was organized to protect Neotopia. This  _is_ my normal.”

“Not for me it isn’t. Not when I grew up the way I did.”

“The Madnug unit also has space for a Soul Drive.” Captain looked up. “Are there… more?”

“Not that we know of, no. It just… didn’t seem right not to include it. We would have to find another one, if that were ever possible.”

Captain stared at the schematics for a long time.

“I’m sure it is,” he said.

**. . .**

The air was stale with the  _smell_ of the Horn of War.

 _Attention: a POTENTIAL (1) Runtime Error has been detected_. _As of now, there is no need to restart the program. Lines: 1/20. Origin: UNDETERMINED._

Captain wanted to purge his fuel tank. It felt like something foul was clogging his reservoir. “What is  _happening?”_

Shute looked at him in concern. “Captain, are you okay?”

“Shute, do you remember this?  _Any_ of this?”

The boy looked confused. “Captain, what are you saying?”

Sazabi’s indignant roar from the pillar he had been thrown into. It fell forward and collapsed, sending dust and debris scattering across the deck. Sazabi rose, his own kind of pillar of might and absolute fury. Fire incarnate.

 _“How dare you destroy my Horn of War,”_  Captain and Sazabi both said at the same time, in complete unison.

Sazabi was offended.  _”Excuse_  me?”

No disclaimer of special dispensation required. Captain had memory of saying so to the Commander more than enough times. Twelve times now? Fourteen? He ordered Shute to get back. The boy didn’t hesitate. He had no memory of having to retreat more than this one time.

“Nevermind that. Let’s test the reaction time of a Gundam in  _this_ dimension!”

_Shute has no idea._

_Does Sazabi? No, I don’t think_   _so._

Using his knowledge from the past “loop,” Captain reacted with less than point one second of delay. He sped forward, dodging the barrage of laserfire, assessing the best way to dispatch of the Commander this time. No errors blinded him yet, beyond the initial prompt to get his attention.

“I see you are talented at  _running_ , at least! But let’s see you  _run from THIS!”_

Captain, without ever seeing the Commander’s vulcan cannon before now, knew the exact charge and cool-down time necessary of him. Sazabi could move with the cannons online, but if he was already stationary, take-off from his current position would be impossible. Captain used his shield-spin technique to displace the radiation long enough to prevent atomization. He was not “there” to watch Doga Grey die, but he felt the energy snuff and explode violently all the same. It was a painful way to die. Engaging the shield’s peg-stand and stabbing it to the deck of the Horn of War, he leapt into the air and took aim. Sazabi followed him with his optic in shock. Captain put one shot right through that optic, then another through his chest. The urge to destroy what was beneath that heavy armor was persistent in all these memories. Both shots left sizeable exit wounds. Captain held his intakes.

 _Warning: a FATAL (3) Runtime Error has been detected_. _A full scenario reboot is necessary. Lines: 1/20 — 015. Origin: TRY IT AGAIN AND STOP GETTING IT WRONG_

Something inside the Commander’s chest burst with sad dying light. Captain had won, and it was still game over.

**vi**

The remains of the  _Gundam Musai_ pinged back to them, finally. No communication came through beyond a black box recording. It was the only thing RAIMI could send past the dimensional barrier, but at least it was  _something_. The recording indicated total chaos seconds after Captain Gundam was transported. Kibaomaru had attacked them in the Minov and disabled their shortwave dimensional comm. A tear was ripped open in the dimensional wall and it nearly destroyed the ship, but something —  _someone_ — managed to drag them away in time. The current whereabouts of the ship was in Ark. The rest of the crew was still MIA, but there was hope. Captain clung to that as tight as he could.

The GP-01 was spending more time with Sazabi than in his own hospital room. He spent days recharging when the activity in and out of the Commander’s room prevented him from staying too long. They were always moving parts and equipment in and out. Captain was another obstacle who got in the way, to be fair. If the Commander was going to make a full recovery (if such a thing were still possible), there could be no delays or setbacks. By day Captain kept to himself, but night offered an opportunity to get away. With Sazabi improving, they had reduced his on-call nurse rotation to every two hours. For the first hour, a doctor or other practitioner would go in to monitor the Commander before leaving to continue their shift from a desk. From three to six in the morning, there was no one at all. Three separate alarm systems were rigged to go off if there were any future life support failures. The guard posted outside was quick to enter recharge and never woke to Captain limping in.

The Commander’s funnel was the only force as bright and awake as the Captain. The menace continually tried to park itself in his lap.

“You never want anyone else to hold you,” Captain said, then realized how ridiculous it was: the funnel was an eternal armament. It had its own AI for interpreting messages from Sazabi, but it was not its own individual and did not have the ability to comprehend anything verbal. Still, the funnel  _insisted_ on placing itself where it could be manually handled. What was controlling it, if the majority of the Commander’s own processor was destroyed?

Captain was in a far better position than the Commander, but being on his own level of damaged was exhausting. As a robot, not having access to all his computing power was a handicap Captain despised.

At least when he was alone, he could take his time to make sure he didn’t push himself to far.

When he wasn’t able to hack into Chief Haro’s personal files, he tried another avenue for his personal research project. The algorithm for Kao Lyn’s personal hard drive was much easier to figure out, since he purposely put it on a difficulty setting that only Gundams could get through. As his creations, he wanted to give them the ability to come and go as they wanted, if the desire was there. Like having a key when no one else was allowed. It was the same rule that existed for his workshop. No knocking required, if you’re one of my own.

A file was left out in the open. Not named, sitting there in too obvious of a spot. Wanting to be found. Captain tried to get in. An error requiring a signed ID bypass prompted him. Captain allowed his credentials to autofill. He was welcomed immediately. Kao Lyn had left him an extra key, just for him.

> **NEOS ORBITAL STATION CARGO HOLD BREAKS FREE, BURNS IN ATMOSPHERE.**  
>  Kataryna Warren,  _Build Finder Tribune_ _  
> _ June 7th, N.C. 152
> 
> _Final confirmation from Mayor Parvati Viswan came this morning in regards to the meteor shower seen by late-night commuters yesterday, expected to be part of the decommissioned Neos Orbital Station. Satellite images taken by the mayor’s science cabinet identified the cargo hold breaking away due to damage sustained by last month’s meteor shower._  
>    
>  _“The remains were lost upon entry into our atmosphere,” Viswan said to a crowd of media gathered on the front steps of Neotopia Tower Plaza. “While we are saddened with the loss of another piece of our colony’s great history, resources are still not available at this time to begin a sizable repair effort. The station is still decommissioned, and my office will prioritize efforts to continue building on the home we have now.”_
> 
> _Viswan’s office could not be reached for further comment on the matter, despite the outcry among amateur stargazers._
> 
> _Brendan Lister, from the Starwatcher public stargazing forum, had this to say to the Build Finder’s reporters: “A piece of reinforced station of that size couldn’t be completely destroyed even after entering the atmosphere. This is just another example of the Viswan administration trying to keep a piece of history for themselves.”_
> 
> _At the very least, the Neos Orbital Station can continue to be seen with the naked eye for another few weeks before we lose sight of it for another month, in its lonely orbit across the sky. If no other large pieces break away, it’s current orbit is estimated to completely decay in N.C. 308._

Captain moved to the next document. An SDG manifest.

> **SUPER DIMENSIONAL GUARD: Mission Docket #252**  
>    
>  MISSION STATEMENT:  _Operation Starfall_ _  
> _ Retrieve any useful items from any surviving containment of the Neos Orbital Station cargo hold, and present any historical items to current political administration. Scientific items are to be converted to SDG care.  
>    
>  MISSION APPROVAL(s): Chief Haro IX [SDG], Mayor Parvati E. Viswan  
>  on the date of June 6th, N.C. 152, 20:37 timestamp.  
>    
>  MISSION PARTICIPANT(s):  _Team Charger_  w/ Corporal Mira Hatori. (Additional team rooster: first lieutenant & robot handler Ryan Heart w/45 SDG GM FIELD UNITS & head unit “Chronos,” second lieutenant & shift leader Edmund Blight w/ 20 HUMAN STAFF.) [See document pg. 13 for name rooster]
> 
> MISSION CONTROL: Blanc Base w/ Chief Haro IX, first communications officer Amanda Petrov.
> 
> MISSION LENGTH: 4 Days, 20 Hours, Thirty Minutes [detailed timeline report on pg. 20]
> 
> MISSION RESULTS: 33 GMs plus one lead GM unit “Chronos” destroyed in cargo hold chamber collapse. Edmund Blight pronounced dead on-site and Mira Hatori pronounced dead upon arrival at Blanc Base (cover stories released to families within twenty hours, see pg. 30, autopsies on pg. 39). 12 remaining GMs, 20 human staff, and Ryan Heart debriefed upon return to Blanc Base. Three thousand plus items of note recovered and distributed. At least five thousand destroyed in plasma grenade explosion/chamber collapse.
> 
> MISSION RESULT: PARTIAL SUCCESS
> 
> FULL MANIFEST (AND STATUS):  
>  212 plasma grenades [recovered post-explosion] (safely detonated)  
>  147 semi-automatic machine guns of various models (disassembled)  
>  190 fully-automatic machine guns of various models (disassembled)  
>  130 rocket launchers, USA models (disassembled)  
>  110 “fat man” mini-nuclear warhead launchers (disassembled)  
>  100 mini-nuclear warheads (safely detonated)  
>  103 electromagnetic rifles (Blanc Base research lab)  
>  292 9mm handguns of various models (disassembled)  
>  289 10mm handguns of various models (disassembled)  
>  110 landmines of an indiscriminate model (safely detonated)  
>  909 cases of ammunition for various weapon types recovered (Noir Base basement storage, see detailed manifest on pg 60.)  
>  4 nuclear warheads (Outpost 8, REFER TO AMENDMENT #5 FOR CLEARANCE TO STORAGE/DISPOSAL OPERATIONS)  
>  214 movies/television programs (circa 1962 - 2698) (Neotopia Archives Level 5 clearance, censorship pending, see detailed manifest on pg. 73).  
>  32 civilian vehicles of various models (Automotive Museum of Transportation, see detailed manifest on pg. 77).  
>  1 fully charged transwarp drive (Blanc Base)  
>  1 [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED]

There were dozens of other documents, relating to  _Operation Starfall_. A separate zip file with thousands of photographs. They hadn’t expected to find so many weapons in a cache that was previously thought cleared. Had they missed anything  _else_ of importance in the Neos One station when it was first decomissioned? There were proposals to reinvestigate, but nothing that could garner final approval. The resources necessary to organize a cover story and prevent curious eyes watching the sky were too sparse to gather. How could you pay off people to look the other way in a society with no money, and without adding to the currency black market? Captain scrolled through the photos.

His Soul Drive sat, pristine, in a pried open safe box. The image was not available to him right away: it was hidden inside a photo icon for an unrelated item. Only those privy to the information would have known where to find it. He recognized it right away.

Sazabi made a sound. The engine that he had been given, made to replicate his previous one lost as closely as possible, rumbled as it tried to settle in its new body. The funnel vibrated.

“Where did they find  _yours?”_  Captain asked. “Do you even know?”

Sazabi didn’t answer, but the funnel continued to shake.

There was nothing more of particular interest in the Starfall file that Kao Lyn had left out for him. The rest of his research material was in open files in other parts of the SDG’s servers… or at least as open as Haro was privy to let them. He bypassed most of them with relative ease. There was information on the weapons found in that same manifest, though most had been listed as disarmed or destroyed in the years following Starfall. However, the transwarp drive that was found with his Soul Drive was still in one piece, whatever it was.

Probing into the historical archives, available to the public, surprisingly gave him his answer.

> **A Brief History of Time (and Space): A Love Letter to Stephen Hawking**  
>        Mary Phobes. (2218). London: Principality Publishing.  
>          
>  Transwarp technology has only improved since the successful 2098 launch of the  _Laplace Explorer_ into the A0620-00 binary star system in the Monoceros constellation. Using the ship’s prototype transwarp drive to “skip” across space in less than fifteen years (a journey that would have otherwise taken 3,300 light-years), it was henceforth able to deliver the first up-close images of the stellar-mass black hole and its neighboring a K-type main-sequence star. Where the Ariel 5 satellite was once used to calculate its projected mass of 6.6 M☉ upon discovery in 1974, [8] it was discovered to now be closer to 7.1. The two objects were also viewed to orbit each other every 8.5 hours rather than the previously observed 7.75. These distortions in the original observations were viewed as the first concrete evidence of true space-time distortion beyond the viewing an item passing through an event horizon.
> 
> The greatest achievement of _Laplace Explorer_ was undoubtedly having it cross beyond the event horizon of A0620-00 and return, undamaged, using the transwarp drive to once again skip across its surface and “bypass” the gravitational pull of the black hole. Regardless of the second failed attempt, it was a necessary sacrifice to continue testing the capacity of the transwarp drive and what would happen in the event of its miniature particle generator’s destruction so close to another considerable space-time anomaly. [9]
> 
> Two observable hours after the destruction of the  _Laplace Explorer_ , it’s probe reported a timestamp inaccurate to mission control’s actual time. Th _e Laplace Explorer_ then began sending back a volley of information identical to when it had still been intact. It continued to relay information for another ten hours before ceasing transmission. The strange algorithm was compared to other records to determine if it was an error — and identical signals were traced back on record as far as 1969 recorded by NASA. These transmissions were evaluated and determined to be transmissions from the  _Laplace Explorer —_ more than 100 years in the past. [10]
> 
> The implication of transwarp drives into human transport is still ongoing, but most scientists fear the consequences of improper transwarp drive destruction. “Time loop” sounds like something from a science-fiction, but could it be fact? The  _Laplace Explorer_ transmitting to NASA 100 years before it was even made provides the frightening answer of “yes.”  
>    
>  **CHAPTER 16:**
> 
> Speaking of improper transwarp disposal, let’s talk about Timeline Fatigue: does anyone ever get the feeling of deja vu? Mr. Hawking would have loved this, for sure. Sometimes, time loops get so tired of  _looping_ that they just  _break_.

**. . .**

Feeling like you were doing the same thing over and over again, when you were only there “once,” was exhausting.

Twenty-two runtime errors. Forty-seven. Sixty-two. Nintey-five. One hundred and eight.

 _Attention: a POTENTIAL (1) Runtime Error has been detected_. _As of now, there is no need to restart the program. Lines: 1/114. Origin: UNDETERMINED._

The errors never indicated their origin. His computers were picking up on something amiss, but never could determine  _why_ or  _where_ they were plaguing him. But they always happened when he hit Sazabi  _wrong_. When the dispatch was incorrect. When he closed in for the kill in the wrong way.

What  _was_ he doing wrong?

(Removing the Soul Drive damaged him beyond reproof. Being seperated from his body too long had ruined something inside of him. He had gone from ethereal white and quiet to loud and awful Hell.)

Mid-chase, after the destruction of his vulcan cannon, Captain had a faint memory of whirling around, but not shooting his weapon. Instead, he drew his pepsaber, braked, and ground to a halt. Sazabi was fast: too fast. There was no time for him to slow down. Captain made sure to arch his swing high. The pepsaber cut through the Axian’s thick armor with a shriek. Sazabi wavered, then went down with a heavy crash.

 _Attention: a SERIOUS (2) Runtime Error has been detected_. _Lines: 1/114. Origin: errorerrorerrorerrorerror_

Captain advanced with caution, then stabbed the red mech through the chest without thinking. It was important to destroy what was inside.

 _Warning: a FATAL (3) Runtime Error has been detected_. _A full scenario reboot is necessary. Lines: 1/114 — 107. Origin: YOU FAILED AND FAILED AND FAILED AND_

No. Try again.

Instead, he took the time to aim with his gun. He fired. A shot to the mech’s laser ports, destroying the rest of his artillery. Sazabi was able to keep control of his flight path and land.

 _Attention: a POTENTIAL (1) Runtime Error has been detected_. _As of now, there is no need to restart the program. Lines: 1/115. Origin: UNDETERMINED._

The fight raged on, and Captain edged closer to escaping Hell by sparing Lucifer once more.

**vii**

It was with increasing confidence that the _Gundam Musai_ crew had survived in Ark. The dimensional transport device was fully reestablishing its connection with the _Gundam Musai_. The ship was damaged, but RAIMI herself was unharmed and already performing as many self repairs as she could. She had a lock on Zero and Bakunetsumaru’s energy signatures twenty miles from her crash site. Shute’s backpack was still transmitting, twenty-six miles away.

Captain had never felt the urge to cry in his life, but he imagined he came very close knowing Shute was alright. The boy had been through worse. A ship being decapitated, flung through a dimensional rift into oblivion, and crash landing due to “divine intervention” (according to a hysterical Bellwood) wasn’t enough to stop his best friend. They survived Commander Sazabi. They could — would — survive everything else.

But Captain needed a new body upgrade. He couldn’t rejoin the battle in his current state.

Kao Lyn’s workshop was a disaster zone. Even  _more_ parts from Sazabi were scattered everywhere. The workshop was awash in red as he entered, and Captain couldn’t stop where some projects started and others ended. New wing binders, support struts, the front facing plate of a vulcan cannon cooling port...

“I’ve actually been working on  _this_ for a long time,” Kao Lyn said, to distract from the fact that he was absolutely rebuilding the Commander’s weaponry. He was back to striking meditative poses, energy restored out of pure excitement. “I was in the process of continuing to upgrade these attachments when Sazabi had his accident. It’s still not ready, buuuut we should be able to install the patches necessary for the upgrade to go smoothly.”

“The Commander had a good day, I take it.”

“Indeed he did! His internals have begun cooling on their own and the life support assistance is only needed as a precaution.”

Captain entered the next room, sitting on the same chair Kao Lyn had installed his “emotion” suite on. Kao Lyn pulled his helmet apart, examining his processor. Captain felt a twinge of “pain” from the motion, likely a result of Gerbera’s hampering. Speaking of which...

“The Gerbera System certainly did a number,” Kao Lyn mused, aloud. “The Captain System should have protected you. Strange. Dark Axis Gundams must have some kind of bypass, but then we should have expected them to get past it during the invasion…”

“I don’t think Gerbera is from the Dark Axis,” Captain said.

Kao Lyn looked at him.

“The Dark Axis looks down at Gundams with disdain. Commander Sazabi especially so, during the battle. Gerbera identified himself as Sazabi’s superior when he confronted us on the _Gundam Musai_ , and he was disguised.”

“So Gerbera isn’t just a Gundam. He’s a non-native to where the Axians are from. An outsider.” Kao Lyn paused.

“Kao Lyn?”

“The Captain System is a remarkable piece of software not just because it’s unique from other computer-linking programs. It’s unique because  _I_ invented it, and only I know how to design it. I never made an obvious back door to gain access to any hackable code. You can reach into the AIs of other robots, but they can never reach back. The Captain System was designed to combat the Control Horns described by Zero when we first found him. And if you ever  _were_ tagged with one, the signal would just relay into the Captain System satellite and be shot into space.”

“A comforting thought, Kao Lyn.”

“No.  _Not_ comforting. I’m serious Captain, something is verrrry wrong with this Gerbera System.” He paused. “I’ve been working on an upgraded version of the Captain System itself. To allow you to reach into non-natives of Neotopia as well. You were able to reach into the bagu bagu placed for you, which we now know was a trap. This upgraded version of the Captain System would allow you to safely tap into Axian-originated brains with safety.”

“You used the mapping data from the Doga Bomber that was recently recovered?”

“With permission, of course. He allowed me to use his data in many different ways. The frightening part is that the coding for your processor is so unique, the thought of it being hacked the way it was seems impossible. Unless it was something  _I_ designed, and to be fair... Axian brains look a lot like something I could have designed too.”

Madnug

_I know you._

Captain kept his suspicions to himself, as impossible as they were. It was too frightening of an impossibility.

An error popped up in his HUD.

**. . .**

Another memory, unblending itself from the rest, with another distinct moment in the widening ripple. Later in the battle during hand-to-hand combat. Captain didn’t lose his arm yet. Sazabi could still use both of his. The Commander missed his mark mid-punch, avoiding Captain’s fist entirely. Captain sidestepped as the huge Axian staggered and lost his balance. Collapsed and unable to get up, Sazabi merely vented and struggled to cool his internals. Standing was impossible. The miserable Axian was too exhausted. Fans screamed. Humans shrieked in triumph below the Horn of War.

 _Attention: a POTENTIAL (1) Runtime Error has been detected_. _As of now, there is no need to restart the program. Lines: 1/294. Origin: UNDETERMINED._

Captain stood above him, wrapping his arm around his neck in a choke-hold. Cutting off the airflow of the primary cooling vents. Sazabi’s helm was hot and growing hotter, unable to properly expel the scalding air cast off from his racing processor. Sazabi tried to kick away but lost his balance, collapsing fully. A jagged maw opened as Sazabi tried, desperately, to ventilate. His intakes were too weak to suffice. He was cooking himself alive.

“Cap… tain...!” Sazabi choked on another intake. His one working hand flew up to try and claw the Gundam’s arm away. No other words could escape. “Nngh…!”

 _Attention: a SERIOUS (2) Runtime Error has been detected_. _Lines: 1/294. Origin: 01101000 01100001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101101 01100101 01110010 01100011 01111001_

Captain tightened the noose of his arm harder, until the heat of the Axian’s processor melted a hole in the side of his head. A fire started. That powerful jaw remained open in a silent scream. he Commander stopped moving, his optic-support rolling uselessly down with the pull of gravity. Spurred by another phantom memory, Captain reached into the strangled giant’s chest, plucked something out, and crushed it in his hand like his own spirit.

 _Warning: a FATAL (3) Runtime Error has been detected_. _A full scenario reboot is necessary. Lines: 1/294 — 283. Origin: YOU ARE BREAKING MY HEART_

**viii**

Captain arrived at Sazabi’s room when he was sure it would be empty. The nurses were beginning to insist he stay in his own space, once they realized he was sneaking out at night to visit the Commander. The GM guard must have finally noticed him and made a report. Captain couldn’t blame them for doing their job. On top of that, his own body was starting to fail. The patch that Kao Lyn installed to prepare him for his full body upgrade was making his frame run slower. Even as his processor recovered from its encounter with the Gerbera System,

He wasn’t expecting to see Keiko and Nanako, and he  _certainly_  wasn’t expecting to see Sazabi’s Soul Drive.

The funnel, previously parked in Keiko’s lap like an oversized lapdog, immediately rocketed for the Gundam as he entered. Keiko looked just as shocked to see him. She stood up, eyes sharp and her attention diverted. “Captain?”

“Mrs. Ray?” Captain had to push the funnel down. Rather than be deterred, it circled the Gundam with intent. “You are visiting Sazabi?”

“I do it twice a week. I would do it more, but school being back in session is…” she trailed off. “I was actually going to see you right after. The nurses said you weren’t feeling very well, though. I hope you made sure to have Shute work on his homework.”

“Every night for one hour, five days a week, except for the last Thursday we were in Lacroa.” Deathscythe had tried to kill them all. No one was in the mood to try and do algebra that night, even if they  _were_ successful in saving the Princess.

Captain caught sight of Sazabi’s Soul Drive again. Crystal clear. He walked closer. It was unrecognizable from the day...

Keiko smiled gently. “He looks better, doesn’t he?”

“Red!” Nanako made grabby hands for the massive mech. She was wrangling a red stuffed animal in one of her fleshy hands. “Zabi!”

“He does.” He couldn’t take his optics off that Soul Drive. The warmth radiating from it. “How long…?”

“Oh,  _that.”_  Keiko was still smiling. “They took the shield off of it half an hour ago. It was activating on and off  _all_ of last week before you came back. It’s started to slow down, so they removed it to get a better view. Now it’s almost completely clear. Dr. Keene thinks it’s trying to “clean” itself.”

“My Soul Drive only activities with Shute.” He rumbled, still staring at that light. The Commander had a strong flame, and a noticeably redder aura opposed to Captain’s green. “There is more to it than that.”

“I wish we knew more,” Keiko said.

“Red!” Nanako demanded.

The funnel immediately went to her, hovering close to the infant’s head. Nanako swatted at it repeatedly.

**. . .**

Another memory, unblending itself from the rest, with another distinct moment in the widening ripple. Later in the battle, during hand-to-hand combat. Captain had lost his arm. One of Sazabi’s was paralyzed from an electrical surge. The Commander didn’t miss his mark, but Captain was stronger. The explosion that ripped up the Axian’s arm stunned him into a motionless stupor. Captain waited. Sazabi’s legs gave out from underneath him. Collapsed and unable to get up, Sazabi merely vented and struggled to cool his internals. Standing was impossible. The miserable Axian was too exhausted. Fans screamed. Humans shrieked in triumph below the Horn of War.

 _Attention: a POTENTIAL (1) Runtime Error has been detected_. _As of now, there is no need to restart the program. Lines: 1/295. Origin: UNDETERMINED._

Captain stood above him, wrapping his arm around his neck in a choke-hold. Cutting off the airflow of the primary cooling vents. Sazabi’s helm was hot and growing hotter, unable to properly expel the scalding air cast off from his racing processor. Sazabi tried to kick away but lost his balance, collapsing fully. A jagged maw opened as Sazabi tried, desperately, to ventilate. His intakes were too weak to suffice. He was cooking himself alive.

 _Attention: a SERIOUS (2) Runtime Error has been detected_. _Lines: 1/295. Origin: 01110000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110011 01100101_

“Cap… tain...!” Sazabi choked on another intake. He had no working limbs to claw at Captain’s arm. No other words could escape. “Nngh…!”

The memory was too awful and he and released him. Sazabi gasped, saggng in his arms. They stayed motionless together. The cheers of the civilians below waned. Confused silence followed. Guneagle hovered closer, previously out of sight. Chief Haro’s white gunperry soared overhead. Zero made a cautious approach, finding the strength to fly the distance between the two towers despite being too high up for his flight magic to work with confidence.

Sazabi’s voice was weak. “What are you waiting for?  _Do_ something, Gundam.”

“We did enough.” He vented. “We’re done.”

Sazabi opened his jaws, biting Captain as hard as he could. Which was not very hard at all. His body was starting to smoke as the wires and fillings began to melt. He panted, desperate to cool down, looking increasingly miserable. Captain ran his fans on high, rapidly cooling his body. He knelt and pulled the Commander’s into his arms.

Delirious, Sazabi made another whining sound. Something in his head popped. His voice cracked. A compartment on his chest opened, but Captain couldn’t remember what was there. It was something important. It radiated warmth unlike the heat killing him.  _”Why?”_

The white gunperry landed. Chief Haro dismounted, helping Keiko and her baby down. Nanako was crying. Guneagle and Zero were approaching quietly, cautiously.

Sazabi said nothing. He relaxed. His gargantuan body steamed, heavier and heavier, as his engine struggled to cycle as hard as it could. Whoever had designed Sazabi had made it that even when he lost, he would still try to keep going. He seemed less cruel, and his master crueller — whoever they were. Who would make a mech who couldn’t stop being a weapon, even when there was nothing left?

Captain stroked his thumb across the bridge of the mech’s helm. He didn’t know what to say.

Sazabi’s venting became heavier. He was making strange noises. The smoking from his head was increasing. Someone — not Sazabi — whimpered. “I’m so sorry, Captain. Please. Were you at least happy to compete with me?”

The Commander died. His chest opened, and something fell out and shattered. Glass crushed underfoot.

 _Warning: a FATAL (3) Runtime Error has been detected_. _A full scenario reboot is necessary. Lines: 1/295 — 284. Origin: close and getting closer_

**ix**

Captain’s upgrade was called the Power Mecha option, with multiple letter-coded “options” to pair with. Option F was flight equipment. Option S was scuba gear. Option R was a “retirement” class mode, if Captain felt the desire to lay down his weapons after the final confrontation with the Dark Axis was said and done.

“If you want,” Kao Lyn said. “After everything, I want it to be an option.”

Captain thanked him.

(Option Z was on the list as a “final stand” option. Z stood for _Zephyranthes_. So important, it had its own code name. Captain had a feeling he was going to need it. How could anyone think about retirement when your best friend was in another dimension, fighting? Shute was giving it his all. So would he.)

The night before the upgrade procedure, Captain made his way back to Sazabi’s room. The huge Axian had some extra work done to him since he last saw him. Another coat of paint. The armor on his legs was reinstalled. New coolant tubing laid inside his open chassis. Brand new industrial-class circuit boards. A proper cover was being made for the Soul Drive, sitting open askew.

Captain sat down next to Sazabi, letting the funnel immediately land in his arms. He held his hand out.

The Soul Drive’s rings stopped spinning, slowing to a stop and gently descending into the case proper. The flame within pulsed and gravitated towards the offered servo.

“I don’t know if you realize I’m here,” Captain said. “I think you do. Thank you for protecting Neotopia. I owe you.”

He touched the Soul Drive. The flame burst with light, a small sun contained in too small an ornament.

 _“The Soul Drive is in fact a synchronizer, which connects a machine with a human mind, and eventually_   _grows with its influence_. _Commander Sazabi’s Soul Drive was influenced by_   _the subconscious by the humans asleep in the fortress_. _their dark instincts and desires were what drove him to his doom.”_

Captain wanted to laugh in Gerbera’s face. And laugh and laugh and  _laugh_.

**. . .**

The punch to Sazabi’s jaw threw him backwards off his pedes. The second to the chest exposed what Captain hadn’t been able to place, until now.

The Soul Drive was black and screaming in agony. From misuse or the battle, Captain couldn’t tell. It’s signal was too unhealthy. Captain hadn’t realized it was a Soul Drive at all.

“You look surprised, Captain.”

 _“You_  have a Soul Drive!?”

Listening to Sazabi’s convoluted attempt to get him to join the Dark Axis couldn’t have come at a worse time. His mind was racing. The sensation that he had done this too many times already was grating on him. He was tired physically  _and_ mentally. After everything that had happened, after everything Captain had done to try and get the fight to just end, Sazabi wasn’t just going to give up nicely. He was going to try and talk his way out of it.

Captain saw red. For the first time in his life, he was genuinely angry.

“If you want a friend,” he said, “you’ll have to do better than that.”

He punched the Soul Drive to pieces. Pulverized glass shards fell like rain. Sazabi fell, and something inside him  _clicked._ Captain’s battle computer scanned and realized what it was. Manually destroying the Soul Drive as he had caused some kind of trigger to release. Energy swelled in the Commander and Captain retreated. He had never seen another robot with a self-destruct mode before.

“I  _lost! NO! NOOO!”_

Sazabi exploded before he even hit the ground. Captain felt his life force dissipate, choking his own Soul Drive with the gravity of its departure. A ghostly death throe followed. The error warnings clouded his vision, and he lost sight of Sazabi’s remains through the rising wall of fire and code.

 _Warning: a FATAL (3) Runtime Error has been detected_. _A full scenario reboot is necessary. Lines: 1/300 — 10000x? Origin:_

**x**

The body upgrade put him back to full capacity. His processors were cleared of whatever bad data cache Gerbera had plagued him with. He remembered everything.

The electronic field of imaginary numbers that Gerbera referred to as the negative zone had a suffocating aura. It smothered Captain’s sensor array like a wet blanket. He felt a chill in his processor and ignored it.

(The Gerbera System, probing for weakness, finding its way in.)  
  
“Do you remember your battle with Commander Sazabi, Captain? And what was revealed to you at the end of it?”

The projection was not real. Captain  _knew_ now that it was the Gerbera System invading his CPU, using his own memory banks to replay footage to him, to make him relive those moments against his will.

(The Gerbera System probed further, finding important images, plotting the creation of vivid and untrue images. Shute and the others cheering him on, and later abandoning him.) 

“My subordinate Sazabi failed to persuade you, but I shall not. 

“Sazabi was your subordinate?”

The memory of Sazabi dying in his arms, his body struggling to continue weaponizing itself, was haunting. Fighting Sazabi so many times in memory, despite only fighting him “once” overall, was a daunting experience. But none of it had been in vain. Those moments with the Commander had been surprisingly intimate. Nothing was more personal than death, except for maybe sex or soulbonding. Captain vaguely wondered what those would be like with the Commander, as well. He had seen Sazabi’s triumph, frustration, rage, sadness...

“Captain, shall I tell you the story of Commander Sazabi and his black Soul Drive? 

Not black. Not entirely. Not anymore. The reports from Chief Haro and the others was evidence of that. Sazabi had chosen to save the humans when no one else was in the position to do so. He could have simply let the Axians tear the city to pieces in his absence. Guneagle and the Gundivers were capable, but not capable enough a force on their own. Captain had been designed to repel the Dark Axis: Guneagle and the Gundivers were secondary support-units.

“You have seen the Fortress of the Dark Axis, haven’t you Captain? but did you know that inside…”

Twenty million human beings was a lie, and Captain knew it the second that Gerbera said so. Twenty million was a  _lot_ of humans. More than the entire population of Neotopia, and more than it would likely ever be in his lifetime. Captain did not anticipate that he would live forever. Shute had a limited lifespan as a human, and living without him felt like an impossibility. He would go someday, just as Shute would. The Dark Axis was not going to destroy them. Regardless, if Sazabi had been influenced by twenty million humans in cold storage, the Soul Drive would have been beyond saving. In less than three months, Sazabi went from vicious warmech to saving an entire population of humans who otherwise still despised him. But at least two — Keiko and Nanako — loved him enough to convert whatever dark cloud gripped him before.

“What are you saying?” Captain’s probe was relaxed. He was calm. He didn’t panic.

Gerbera was taken aback by the response. His optic flashed. Once increasingly animated, he came down from the high to reassess his own words. “Malice is their true nature! Evil and  _violence_. These humans are not worthy of your admiration and respect.”

The image of the dark Soul Drive, stolen from his own memories, grew to incredible size. At that moment, a paralyzing force gripped his brain. The Gerbera System had dug deep, seizing all his assets.

“Be my comrade. Join us. Join the Dark Axis.”

Gerbera was convincing. Not convincing enough, but convincing all the same. His mind wandered. Sazabi was Gerbera’s subordinate, and Gerbera had tried to kill him all the same. Whoever this mech really was, he had made Sazabi into a monster and tried to dispose of him when the beast learned to disobey his master. The pull for his Soul Drive to be  _good_ was too strong, even for Gerbera. 

Sazabi was proof, for Captain, that they would be able to win against the Dark Axis.

_Don’t give up, Captain._

_I’m so sorry, Captain._

He snapped to awareness twice as fast as he should have. Gerbera barely had the time to get his name out before he pulled away. Their duel began.

“Your story about humans asleep in the fortress is nothing but lies!”

“Really? then what is  _your_ explanation for the black Soul Drive?”

“Ever since battling Sazabi, I’ve wondered: how can a Soul Drive turn evil? The only way a Soul Drive can turn dark is not giving it human contact. A Soul Drive cannot grow normally unless it has human interaction, but there  _are_ no humans in the Dark Axis! That is why Sazabi's Soul Drive turned evil. Those of us with Soul Drives are meant to  _live_ with human beings.”

Sazabi had thrived in the Ray household, even if he refused to admit it. Captain entertained the thought of speaking with Sazabi normally, one day. Asking him about it, even if the Commander’s replies were quick-witted and facetiously clever. Sazabi was better than the Dark Axis. He was also meant to live with human beings, one way or another. Despite being his own weapon.

“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO LIVE AT ALL!” 

Gerbera had him trapped by the arm, beginning to hack the limb off as far away from the junction area as possible. Captain couldn’t allocate the pain-data and simply let his his arm fall. Of everything else he had endured so far, it was the worst pain he had felt in his life. Real pain. There was no avoiding it with his body’s usually high threshold. Gerbera knew what to do to cause him the most suffering, knew his body too well. He undoubtedly knew how to hurt Sazabi the most, too. How much pain had Sazabi been in on the Horn of War, enduring

all those deaths

what he had?  
  
Captain lost one arm to Sazabi. Now he had lost the other to Gerbera. The explosion sent debris into his face, shattering his face mask.

Gerbera went straight for his Soul Drive.

“Your Soul Drive is influenced by those foul human beings, and will ultimately destroy you!”  
  
“It didn’t destroy Sazabi,” Captain ground out, struggling to keep his Soul Drive chamber closed. He fought with all his strength, but was failing fast. Fighting Gerbera was so much more draining than Sazabi. “It made him stronger!”

“If you think being dead is a strength, I would be more than glad to bestow it to you!”

“Commander Sazabi is alive!” Captain actually laughed. Long and hard. He knew Shute and the others were bothered by the way it sounded, but it came out before Captain could stop it. “You couldn’t stop him, and you won’t stop me or the rest of my friends!”

Despite their lack of interaction beyond what happened on the Horn of War, Captain was willing to accept Commander Sazabi into the group of his  _friends._ With time, assuming they both survived, maybe they would be.

Gerbera’s optic flared.  _”I don’t believe you.”_

“Then you’re not a very smart professor,” Captain ground out. A flash of panic made him think that maybe he revealed too much, but it was too late to care. He had gone too far, he was hurting, and he was angry. Gerbera had dragged this one just to try and convince him to leave his friends, then attempt to kill him anyways? “Even if you destroy me, nothing is stopping him from going after  _you.”_

He felt Shute’s presence. The boy was able to break into the negative zone, and Gerbera was sent reeling back from the force of the Soul Drive’s activation. Shute being in such close proximity made Gerbera have a reaction. Something behind his chest glowed, and Captain knew what it was immediately. It made sense for Sazabi’s superior to also have a Soul Drive.

What he hadn’t expected was for him to be a Gundam. 

No longer seperated by that fake layer of armor, Captain saw of flash of what the Professor truly was.

Madnug.

I know you.

An warning flashed across his HUD.

Stephen Hawking would have loved this.

**. . .**

_Attention: a POTENTIAL (1) Runtime Error has been detected_. _As of now, there is no need to restart the program. Lines: 1/301. Origin: UNDETERMINED._

The punch to Sazabi’s jaw threw him backwards off his pedes. The second to the chest exposed what Captain hadn’t been able to place, until now.

The Soul Drive was black and screaming in agony. From misuse or the battle, Captain couldn’t tell. It’s signal was too unhealthy. Captain hadn’t realized it was a Soul Drive at all.

“You look surprised, Captain.”

 _“You_  have a Soul Drive!?”

Listening to Sazabi’s convoluted attempt to get him to join the Dark Axis couldn’t have come at a worse time. His mind was racing. The sensation that he had done this too many times already was grating on him. He was tired physically  _and_ mentally. After everything that had happened, after everything Captain had done to try and get the fight to just end, Sazabi wasn’t just going to give up nicely. He was going to try and talk his way out of it.

Captain saw red. For the first time in his life, he was genuinely angry.

But he remembered. He considered. His fist unclenched.

He wasn’t sure what… spurred him. Maybe it was the pounding headache he had, from remembering too many things that couldn’t have possibly happened but still somehow  _did_. He had not fought Commander Sazabi over one thousand times. He only fought him  _once_. He had to be logical, show restraint, and not  _kill_. In a way, maybe having all those alien memories was a blessing. In all of them, until right this moment, it never occurred to him to just…

He plucked the Soul Drive out of his chest.

Sazabi’s optic flared. Then it went dark. He fell onto the deck of the Horn of War and did not move. His armor steamed, but his engine immediately lowered its RPM. He was alive, but dormant.

No warnings flashed in his HUD. The glass sphere with its jagged grey rings and storming black cloud sat like a frigid slab of ice in his servo. The city went silent below. The world sat still.

No error message.

Captain ran a diagnostic.

 _Attention: NO POTENTIAL (0) Runtime Error has been detected_. _As of now, there is no need to restart the program. Lines: 2. Origin: UNDETERMINED._

He tried one more time. In all the turmoil, before red cape and foil, he never took his eyes off Commander Sazabi. There would be no closing in for a kill, this time.

Captain Gundam fell to his knees.

That night, it rained. From the safety of Kao Lyn’s workshop, he could still smell rust.

 


	17. Professor Gerbera

**Guess I’m giving up again.**

**Seen this play out in my dream,**

**It doesn’t matter.**

**Had me feeling like a ghost:**

**fuck, it’s you I hate the most.**

**This time I might just disappear.**

_Ghost_ \- Mystery Skulls

**i**

The Soul Drive was screaming.

He returned the way he came, and It was ready to receive him. It had known his mission was a failure and was quick to pull him back to the safety of the portal. If he was being honest, he would have preferred still having access to the Zakorello Gate. While not Dark Axis tech (the gate was a denizen of one of the first worlds they assimilated), it was predictable. Able to be summoned with curbed obedience, even. The beast was safe.

 _It_ on the other servo...

In the early days of the Dark Axis invasions, he had seen Its power levels fluctuate wildly. Ten percent, seventy, four, thirty, sixty, one... the most recent string of campaigns had allowed It to be as strong as It had ever been, but dimensional transport was not new for It. He had seen It zap entire enemy fleets into bends between space, crushing them with the tenacity of a black hole. The dimensional bridge between the Minov and Its chamber was narrow and pulsing, unstable with wild energy. He had to keep as still as possible to not risk injury to himself, but the events on the bridge of the _Gundam Musai_...

Everything had gone according to plan up until he underestimated the bond between the human boy and

his brother

Captain Gundam.

 _Damn_ , Captain Gundam.

He had “heard” the stories of his and the boy’s exploits, purposely programmed into his core memory upon activation. They were an unstoppable team in his time, so many centuries ago - and yet to come. Fending off the Dark Axis invasion, stopping the Dimensional Halo from absorbing Neotopia, restoring peace to the dimensional worlds whose conflict came to their attention... they were an unstoppable team. Between Captain Gundam’s brute strength and Shute’s sheer conviction, there was little that could oppose them. He never imagined he would see its power in person.

Captain Gundam’s determination to reunite with the child had made him a mental powerhouse of the likes the he had never seen before. The infiltration by the Gerbera System had done little to steer him clear. Deed offered no resistance at the thought of obtaining that Princess for himself, when exposed to the temptation. His lust to get between the human princess’ legs was nauseating, and he was willing to slaughter his allies to do so. Kibaomaru was quick to bow at the notion that he could conquer Ark for himself. A beastial urge to horde grounds like a wild animal, marking his territory as he went. Captain Gundam? Trying to convince him that the humans were his enemy had backfired horrifically. He trusted the organics with all his being, even with the forced manipulation of his sensory equipment to make him believe otherwise. The influence of the humans had strengthened his Soul Drive too much.

It’s activation alone…

He was back in the Fortress in seconds. He could not properly calculate the time: his processor was still reeling, struggling to fight back the withering sensation of his own Soul Drive burning in his core. It was missing rotations, spasming wildly, writhing in agony from the stress of knowing it was so  _close_ to another source of  _warmth_ and  _love_ and—

(Would Commander Sazabi have felt the same way, feeling Captain Gundam’s Soul Drive activating so close to his own during their battle? No. Sazabi had been born into the Dark Axis. He never felt the touch of a human so close to his core. He was created -  _bred_ \- into a role where the Soul Drive served no ulterior purpose for synchronization. Thus his control device would have never protested to Captain’s presence on the Horn of War.)

(Commander Sazabi.)

(There was no way he was still...)

(He was already supposed to die on the Horn of War. There was no way he could have survived that impact into the...!)

Sharp pain, setting his sensors alight with  _fire._

“STOP THAT!” He reached up to claw at his chest, to punish the wretched little  _thing_ that was trying to tear itself to pieces inside him. How dare it continue this tantrum! There was no reason for it to keep struggling! He wished It would punish him for his failure to tempt Captain Gundam. That, or foul his  _own_ pathetic Soul Drive into submission. But his lord General Zeong offered no relief. The deity stared down at him from above, three optics aligned into one. Silent. Observant. Waiting to see what further reaction the misbehaving Drive would elicit. His Master was merciful as well as cruel. What was It thinking? What did It intend to let him suffer like this?

His insides burned. What worse way to die  _was_ there, than to be cooked alive? The Soul Drive cried in violent protest, hot with nitrogen iciness and the numb sensation of the cosmos, overheating his circuits. To feel such unbearable heat, to lose control and find yourself flung headfirst into Hell…

(He knew. He had burned in the crash that destroyed the  _Zero One_ pod. He had been burned in reentry into Neotopia’s atmosphere when Sazabi killed himself.)

(No. He knew Captain Gundam had spoken the truth. Commander Sazabi was  _alive_.)

(Sazabi was spared twice, and you not even once.)

Kibaomaru reached out for him, but dared not touch. The mech was on his own platform, optics bright with horror. His world view had been shattered. “Professor Gerbera—! You’re a—?”

Madnug grabbed his chest, curled forward, and howled until his vocal-codec turned to static.

**ii**

The first thing he ever remembered was Light.

It was not physical, nor was it anything he could actually see. The sensation was bizarre in the sense that he shouldn’t have  _had_ a perception of light, or even a real understanding of it. His processor had not been turned on yet. There was no functioning computer to access his logic-center, nor any sensors to process data. Could data even  _exist_ when there was no means to collect it? Light implied that there was a source to cast it. Darkness would have been logical. When nothing existed, nothing had to mirror it in return. There could not be  _something_ where there was none. The Light was the kind of sensation light that came with warmth, made him bask in it, filled him to the brim with...

His processor was turned on.

“Operation  _Happy Birthday XI_ : engaged. Initializing setup protocol and runtime programs. Please standby! Vocalizer is now online. Unit, recite booting progress. Let’s hear you.”

The Ghost had finally found its Machine. He was born.

There was a ringing in his field of auditory perception. The voice was close but still so far, too far. As he rapidly came into his own body, felt the heaviness of it root him down into existence, he felt himself parrot a reply. He did not recognize the sound of his own voice until he felt the vibration in his vocalizer. “Acknowledged. Booting procedure started. All systems go. Processor functionality at seventy percent. All software successfully installed and ready to run.”

Murmurs. Voices beyond the Light, but the world was still made up of warmth to offer comfort. His body that he still couldn’t see settled further into reality, weighing him down. A woman’s voice stood out. How did he know what a woman was? The knowledge came to him as easily as thinking as his brain finally began to process  _real_ data, not fake. “The randomized codec. It’s so soft...”

A young man’s voice. “Conformation of setup procedure confirmed. Unit GP-04 status is online. SPARK reading at optimal level. All systems functional and working at one hundred percent capacity. Activating optical feedback for relay.”

An older man, energetic and overflowing with a positive glow. “Goooood morning, GP-04! Can you hear me?”

His vision of Light bleed into white and static. Binary flashed nonsense. He saw the real world as it was.

Adjacent to Kao Lyn’s workshop, the room was part of the robotic-acquisitions department. It was special: all the Gundams that had ever been created for Neotopia had been activated in this very space. It had a high ceiling and bright non-fluorescent fixtures that cast the entire chamber comfortably. What was a Gundam and who was Kao Lyn? He knew right away. The knowledge, pre-programmed, loaded into his forward processor for analysis. They had known he was going to have questions before he even woke up. How thoughtful. Kao Lyn was his creator, a member of the Super Dimensional Guard, who watched over Neotopia. Neotopia was a space colony populated by humans. Humans were organic creatures who lived alongside robots in their society, like Gundams. Gundams were…

Kao Lyn’s energetic tone deflated. “GP-04? Oohhh dear, dear, dear… we may need to reanalyze the startup sequence, he’s not—”

“I am awake,” he said. He reached up, exposing his white metal arm and black hand. He flexed his digits. The joints creaked as they were used for the first time. He felt himself automatically dimming his light sensitivity as his optics accidentally tried to scan a light. Too bright! He remembered the Light had the same intensity, but having a detailed sensor array had curbed his ability to withstand it. “I am functional. I am the GP-04 Captain Gundam.”

“GP-04,” a new man’s voice said, stern. It was a match to the leader of the Super Dimensional Guard, Chief Haro. “Please sit up. We need to get a good look at your Soul Drive.”

Soul Drive? Madnug started to sit up, his head spinning. Moving for the first time was a chore when you had never utalized your own finite body before. To go from infinity to a restricted space was a marvel  _and_ a handicap. He looked down at his chassis. The sight of the pulsing flame hovering in its glass heart filled him with familiarity. The compartment of his chest had folded outward to expose the sphere proper, circled by two stabalizer rings. So  _that_ was what the Light had been...

He was a scientist. He knew he was. It was preloaded knowledge, and  _as_ a scientist, asked his first question: “What am I?”

(He knew what he was. He was a Gundam. But something about - this - avoided him. He knew what he was, but not  _What._  Was such a silly question even possible to pose?)

“Please follow the directions as given.”

He did as he was told. This was a military operation, and obedience was required to make sure this procedure went smoothly. He would comply for the time being. He sat up further, looking down at his chassis again, shivering at the heat coming from that small sphere. Across the way was a large bay window. He was able to see the rest of him, white and blue with a second slab neighbouring his own, holding his directional-thruster pack. Further analysis resonating deep inside his brain indicated that the mirror was actually a one-way window. He was being watched. He made sure to allow them a good view of the mysterious Soul Drive.

Another voice from another fellow scientist. “You show some activity in your emotion-cortex. Please tell us what you feel, GP-04?”

He felt strange. As he continued to regard his mirrored image, he reached up to trace his fingers across the Soul Drive. The stabalizer rings slowed down and levitated into a rest-position, allowing him to let a digit touch the surface of the glass. The specks of embers within flickered like electric current. He was a Gundam. A living machine, created less than one minute ago to serve a purpose as a mobile citizen. An effort had been put out to bring him to this point, and now he was experiencing the aftermath of so many people’s efforts. Kao Lyn, who built his body. The countless workers who assembled his pieces. The programmers from hundreds of years ago who unintentionally set the groundwork to craft sentient AI. The people who found his Soul Drive and brought it back to...

Alive.

He was  _alive_.

He hadn’t  _been_ alive before.

“GP-04.” The voice that greeted him when he first came online was back, chipper as ever. “You must be feeling overwhelmed. It’s alright if you can’t answer the question yet.”

A relief. “Thank you. I will need time to process my emotions.”

“Are you happy?”

“I am... pleasantly surprised.”

Kao Lyn was giddy. “How about we try something else? What is your name?”

Something about the frame of the question changed the atmosphere. The manner of which was not significant, but it was there. He had been aware of the murmurs in his field of hearing from the PA system installed, but now the voices were silent. He could hear the sound of his own processor as it settled. He went over the question and found his first sensation of confusion. “Name? I am the GP-04 Captain Gundam Explorative Unit...”

“No, no, no! I mean  _your_ name.” Kao Lyn’s voice vibrated with that air of tremendous excitement. It encompassed him. “Think very carefully, GP-04. You know your title but that’s not what I’m asking. What is your  _name?”_

Name.

For the first time, he was unsure about something. He had been pre-programmed with so much... suddenly finding himself unable to determine the answer to  _one simple question_  was daunting. He knew the exact square footage of the  _Neos One_ space station, the names of every single star in the viewable Neotopia sky, the important historical dates starting from N.C. 001... staring down at his chest, he wracked his processor as hard as he could. He was pre-loaded with so much. How could be be missing the answer to something as simple as...?

A word scratched at him. No, not a word. A title. A name? It matched nothing else in his processor. It sat alone, separate from the rest of the data available to him. Lost.

Had he found...?

He was so surprised that he sputtered. The collective murmur resumed. The name was there, but the origin of the phrase itself was nowhere to be found. It just... came to him. On its own. With no prior outside influence. Was it the answer to the question he was looking for? How could this one keyword of information just appear in his brain with no outside input. He was less than three minutes old. He went over the “name” in his head, and the more he repeated it to himself in his brain, the more it... stuck? He was less confused and more attached. It was a nice feeling to have. He owned his body, but that was all. This one word, that had no existence in any of his databanks beforehand, was  _his_.

He felt something.

(Happy. He was happy. This was his. This one word, this name, was for him and no one else.)

“I...” He looked up at the glass. “I think... I am Madnug.”

The feeling of warmth left as the silence came back. Deafening. The sound of his own Soul Drive containment folding back was the only noise that claimed attention from his auditory array. Did they not like it? Was there something wrong...?

“Madnug?” Kao Lyn’s voice was reserved. “GP-04, are you  _sure_ that is your name?”

Fast whispers. He heard them clearly.

“Didn’t we remove...?”

“We did. It came back. We couldn’t stop it.”

“Relay to Bellwood to resume the Spacebridge Project. We can’t alter the paradox...”

The GP-04 stopped to think very, very carefully. He did not want to disappoint his creators. It was distressing. He felt his confidence wane. Was there something wrong? An error in his code, something that would need to be repaired so soon after he had just come online? What other bugs had been missed in his initial programming sweep? Could someone fresh born become defective so soon? He did not want to be turned off yet. The name was supposed to be his, he thought it was  _supposed_ to be his, he...

 _“Madnug.”_ Kao Lyn’s voice was warm. “Ooh, please don’t be upset. Names are very important! I only wanted to be sure that was the name  _you_ wanted. Is it?”

“Yes.” Madnug felt his body vibrate. Shake. He trembled. The more he thought of it, the more he clung to the name. In his mind where he already had so much, it was the one piece of unique data that truly had no other place to be. Throwing it away was out of the question. “It is mine. I would like to keep it.”

“Well then, in that case...”

There was a pause. A door slid open next to the large mirror-window. An old human man in a yellow tai chi uniform stepped into the space, approaching carefully. In one hand was a small cupcake. With the other, he removed his yin-yang glasses. His eyes were bright green, past sagging skin and wrinkles. “Allow me to welcome you to the Gundam Force, your new home. And again... happy birthday, Madnug.”

**iii**

Professor Gerbera was fucking tired.

Recreating his Axian armor was no problem, as far as labor went. He was a creator: he made the Dark Axis what it was. Raising his disguise was a cakewalk, compared to raising an army. And as much metal as General Zeong could process, there was always refuse left over in his chamber to recycle. Enough material for at least ten sets from the Knight Gundam remains alone. Fifteen if you expanded to the remains of the Commanders.

What was frustrating was the fact he even had to remake it in the first place. The Professor was meticulous. He was careful, cautious... to lose his first set - his  _very_ first set - to Captain Gundam was insulting. He had that same armor since he first cast it one thousand, nine hundred, and forty-seven years ago. It was kept in pristine condition through hundreds of invasion campaigns. Having to create new pieces from scratch, digging up the old molds from storage, was further injury to his pride.

Captain Gundam had taken so much. It made him want to g _auge his processor_   _out without anaesthetic._ He should have done it while he had the chance on the  _Gundam Musai_. Trying to convince Captain to join the Dark Axis... foolish! He had been so intent on trying to hurt the humans who abandoned him, by robbing them of their savior... he had forgotten that killing Captain would have sufficed as well. There was no love lost between them. Bringing his sibling over the Dark Axis’ side would have only been one step in his final plan to just feed him to the General.

The Doga Bomber delivered his status report quickly. His serial code was GA-LL3. The mech did not stand out in any way from the rest of his production line, and was rigid with obvious apprehension. “There is no sign of the  _Shadow Musai_ , sir. All mobilized squadrons failed to pick up their trail after it blasted out of the Fortress hull. It disappeared into a radiation storm in the opposite direction of our trajectory. Their last transmission from a Zako soldier was for us to  _go get fragged._ ”

“They’ll be destroyed soon enough. That was a hyper-charged system they drove into. There won’t be survivors.” The Professor flashed his pseudo-optic, looking up from his work. “I don’t care. What about the rest?”

Gerbera’s office space was the observation deck above his research facility. The large bay windows allowed him to see below into the operating theatre and laboratory. The arrangement of both spaces heralded more human influence than the Professor cared to admit. The standing desk in the office was littered with datapads, schematics, fuel statistics relating to how much more was necessary to facilitate the General’s hunger… Gerbera adjusted a still too loose piece of the new armor on his wrist, scanning the newest reports about the Fortress’ latest energy scan. The dimensional distortion around its hull had increased in fluxuations. Good.  _Perfect_.

“Of course.” GA-LL3 looked increasingly uncomfortable as Gerbera palmed through that pile, but credit was due to where the doga kept his voice from faltering. His optic darted between the salmon-clad SIC and the exit. He did not want to be there. Seldom did anyone, given the Professor’s reputation. “All planetside refineries that we have gone past have been eliminated. No survivors. All Zako and sub-class soldiers have been culled. Mass production of Doga Bombers is halted and resources have been allocated to fueling the Fortress’ movement. Approximately one thousand, nine hundred, and eighty-three of us are left and prepping for the final strike on Ark.”

The Dark Axis once had access to over a million “Axian” built members. In its entire history, approximately twenty-three million. With less than two thousand left, it was the smallest rank since the earliest days before mass production. What was even more amazing was sheer trust that the remaining soldiers had in him. Their numbers were low to the point of extinction, but each of them knew they were disposable. Replaceable. Gerbera could always make more, with or without plants and refineries. No matter the outcome of the battle in Ark, the Dark Axis would live forever.

(At least, that’s what they thought. Naive creations of his. Nothing could live forever when the multiverse was destroyed. The End was coming. It had taken two thousand and three years, but Professor Gerbera had finally accumulated enough energy for the General to—)

“Professor?” The Doga Bomber’s demeanor was slipping. His absolute obedience wavered out of fear of his silence. “Your orders?”

“Continue to gather resources around the Fortress and prepare for the final strike on Ark. That is all. You are dismissed.”

The Doga Bomber fled, exiting the room with a wide stride. The flier couldn’t get out fast enough. GA-LL3 was loyal, they all were, but the remaining Axians had still had that sting of  _terror_ instilled in them from recent events. The failure of Commander Sazabi, his betrayal, the slaughter of the Commanders… the reaction was purely instinctual, nothing more. An error in their code. Too bad. So long as their obedience held up, there was no need to worry. With no Commanders to herald they fell in line under the Professor readily. They had no one else to turn to.

There were still many variables to take into consideration. He knew that the strike on Ark would produce heavy casualties. Kibaomaru would not go down without a fight, and he did have the Castle Tenchicho in his arsenal. Twenty-nine Big Zams lost was - ridiculous. It would be no match for Zeong, at least.

Even without the Commanders - without Sazabi - it was coming together. They would all suffer as he had.

**iv**

It was getting impatient.

It was also becoming concerned.

The timeline continues to change, It said. While The End was coming, an alternative was  _also_ fast approaching. Very fast, in fact. So fast, that It had been blindsided. There was the possibility that their pursued endgame would cancel out as a result. It would not succeed if space-time continued to alter in the manner it was. It would  _die_ if a fix was not made. The prospect of such an inappropriate finale would not be tolerated for much longer.

“Change?” Professor Gerbera felt his Soul Drive wither. “You mean Commander Sazabi?”

General Zeong’s spoken language was not Its preferred mode of communication. Spoken words conveyed a physical presence, but that was not needed for It to get its point across. Although few were ever prepared for severity of the mental intrusion, Professor Gerbera was adjusted. Two thousand years of service had that effect, that benefit.

Unfortunately, that never stopped the  _hallucinations_  from being repulsive.

The evening was off to a bad start when Professor Gerbera walked into his laboratory and discovered fifty-two point seven human beings dismembered across every surface.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

The illusion was vivid to the point of being a nuisance. Either It’s mental intrusions were getting stronger, or Madnug had grown weaker. He had strained his mental processes to the max when confronting Captain... had the encounter made him weaker? Aghast. Even after his abandonment, his older brother  _continued_  to torment him. He actually felt compelled to try and clean the surface of his charging station, knowing the gore wasn’t real. The Gundam was later treated to the sight of a blonde human child in his peripheral vision. A constant and obnoxious presence, especially when he was trying to organize the data he gathered from Zeong earlier. Why even materialize a human girl in the first place? Madnug knew none who were relevant to him. The faces of his handlers from Neotopia were blips in his memory.

He was in the middle of recalibrating his armor when he saw his mirror reflection. Cast in his old colors, the white shadow walked slowly out of the lab. Gerbera was tempted to follow when the whispers scratching as his audial sensors started to give him a headache. It was obvious that Zeong wanted his attention. He followed the image of his young self all the way to the General’s main chamber.

Professor Gerbera watched as the white mech threw himself into the acid pit below. Madnug hit the fluid, and the howl that rose up along the tell-tale hiss of melting metal echoed like a banshee.

“How pleasant,” Gerbera said. “If you were hungry, all you had to do was _ask.”_

Moving the Fortress such a long distance, manually, had made the General fouler than usual. The Commanders consumed should have been enough. To get the use of both of Its hands and dimensional transport working... as well as stave off some of Its hunger. But now It was insisting It still didn’t get to “finish” one Its meals. Strange. Madnug had  _seen_ Nightingale go in, and he dispatched Bawoo and Braun-Doc himself. There was no way any of them had survived long enough to avoid digestion.

Still, the Professor summoned fifty Doga Bombers and invaded their minds with the Gerbera System. He “convinced” them to go in willingly.

It still wasn’t enough. It wanted Gundanium.

“There isn’t any  _left_ , General,” Professor Gerbera said, attempting to appease It as much as possible. Sacrificing more Doga Bombers was possible, but not recommended. They needed all the bodies they could for the strike on Ark, on the meddlesome Gundam Force. “Kibaomaru will not keep his end of the bargain. There are no more Knight Gundams. There are no more Gundams from the other worlds overall.  _That_ is why we are going to Ark.”

A falsity. There were always Gundams. It knew there were. It always knew.

“In which case, we  _are_ capable of dimensional transport. Send me where there are Gundams, and I will convince them to come. An invasion is not necessary at this point.”

Zeong changed the subject. It offered Its knowledge about the changing timeline. Its impatience and concerns.

“Change?” Professor Gerbera felt his Soul Drive wither. “You mean Commander Sazabi?”

It was infuriating to even say the mech’s name, nevermind acknowledge it proper. Yes, Professor Gerbera was aware that Commander Sazabi was meant to die on the Horn of War during the invasion. He was preloaded with the knowledge of what happened when the Dark Axis invaded Neotopia in his original timeline. The enemy arrived in droves, the SDG made a valiant stand, and when all hope still seemed lost... Captain Gundam was a household name for a reason. Everyone saw him dismantle the Commander, piece by piece, ending with the destruction of his Soul Drive. Gerbera poured over articles about it in his memory banks when it came time to construct the Crown Jewel Commander for himself. Yes, Sazabi was destined to die. That much was unavoidable. If time was written in stone, dodging the inevitable was impossible. However, there remained the  _chance_ that Sazabi would cripple Neotopia in some way, nudge something out of alignment, push the boundaries of time-flow...

At the most, the Professor expected only a minor shift. The Neotopia invasion was an  _experiment_ , after all. A test. They had resources, but not as plentiful as Voxvale or Lacroa. There was no need to invade them beyond pushing the boundaries of what was possible to alter the past.  As expected, all attempts to sway the grip of history went in vain. The Zakorello Gate coordinates were off, and the Big Zam did not drop right on top of Blanc Base like it should have. The Control Horns were rendered ineffective despite the firewalls applied to keep the Captain System at bay. Sazabi’s grip was engineered to be powerful, so powerful, but not enough to keep him from losing the Soul Drive to a child...

Sazabi died as Gerbera’s memory told him he would.

But he did not stay dead. Not because of anything Gerbera did. Because of Captain and his inability to crush a little glass sphere like he was  _supposed_  to.

Correct, the General said. Commander Sazabi was not supposed to live. An oversight was had, the chain on the pendulum of Time had broken and cast them onto a new branch of possibilities. Zeong saw Sazabi’s death hundreds of times, and yet  _this time_  was somehow different. Your brother  _did_ something. Manipulated the timeline in a way that had never been done before. It exceeded Its expectations for what space-time would allow in such a small frame of existence. Timeline Fatigue, and Captain Gundam’s awareness of it, had unravelled the paradox created by the  _Zero One._

“The  _Zero One?”_ Professor Gerbera felt his engine catch. “My ship?”

It ignored him. It was angry, and getting angrier. You meddled, servant. The Commander’s survival was one thing, but going back to try and finish the job? Trying to destroy him for yourself that second time? The crater he left behind cast a wake, and the tsunami rolling below the surface of their fractured timeline was building. It was only a matter of time before the waves consumed them. A butterfly that flapped its wings in Neotopia would herald a storm in Ark, and not even It would be able to stop it.

**v**

> **A Brief History of Time (and Space): A Love Letter to Stephen Hawking**  
>    Mary Phobes. (2218). London: Principality Publishing.
> 
> Since the creation of the first Transwarp drive by Dr. Ricardo Sanchez, the technology is still volatile in nature. That will never change, and altering space-time to  _any_ degree comes with inherent risk and danger... even with safety procedures in place to avoid improper (or accidental) Transwarp disposal. Regardless if no immediate ill-effects came of the  _Laplace Explorer_  injecting its 2098 transmissions into 1967, who is to say that we didn’t (barely) dodge a paradox shaped bullet?
> 
> Sanchez’s grandson, Dr. Mortimer Smith, elaborated further on this line of questioning at the 2099 World Science Conference in Ypsilanti, Michigan. [23] Despite how the  _Laplace Explorer’s_  1967 transmissions were only recognizable  _after_ they were compared to the volleys in 2098, he warned that the risk of us creating an alternate timeline was still very real. “How can we know that our past wasn’t altered to the point of destroying the future? It’s bad enough that we might cause Timeline Fatigue or a loop with one of these things. A snake can’t eat its own tail forever. You take away one grain of sand, and you risk collapsing the entire dune. 
> 
> Smith references two important elements. The first is the snake eating its own tail: the philosophy of the Ouroboros, the symbol depicting a serpent (or dragon) eating its own tail. The Ouroboros was most frequently used in medieval alchemy, often taken to symbolize introspection or the “eternal return,” [24] especially in the sense of something constantly re-creating itself: the very definition of a time loop, which will inevitably result Timeline Fatigue. As Smith says, the snake cannot eat itself forever before the animal inevitably dies (in our case, before the loop collapses from its own instability, destroying the looped timeline once and for all).
> 
> The second addressed philosophy was first quoted in  _The Vocation of Man_  (1800). Johann Gottlieb Fichte says that “you could not remove a single grain of sand from its place without thereby... changing something throughout all parts of the immeasurable whole.” The _Laplace Explorer_ did not remove anything significant from our timeline, as 1969 NASA dismissed the _Laplace Explorer_ transmissions altogether. They thought it was noise caused by a solar flare. Yet, had they been able to translate the code, Smith and Fichte are right: changing that part could have altered our history on an immeasurable scale. For better or worse cannot be said.
> 
> Dr. Smith was ninety-nine years old when he passed away four weeks after the conference. He was awarded a Nobel Peace Prize later that same year for his contributions to the scientific community.
> 
> Thankfully, there is no record of a significant time loop being created beyond what happened with the _Laplace Explorer_. Then again, how would we know what to look for? Timeline Fatigue, in practice of its theory, is only observable to those who:
> 
>   * Are able to exist outside of the space-time continuum.
>   * Are perceptive to the space-time continuum, or at least armed with the mechanical equipment to detect it (no such technology exists yet).
> 

> 
> Understandably, no one has come forward... but this isn’t where our understanding of how the future can affect the past ends. A separate theory from Timeline Fatigue addresses this: the Butterfly Effect.
> 
> CHAPTER 17
> 
> In chaos theory, the Butterfly Effect is the sensitive dependence on initial conditions, where a small change can result in large differences later on. As stated before: removing a single grain from a dune can cause the whole thing to collapse. Coined by Edward Lorenz, the term derived from the metaphorical example of a tornado (the exact time of formation, the exact path taken) influenced by something as minor as the flapping of the wings of a butterfly weeks earlier. Lorenz discovered the effect when he observed that runs of his weather model with initial condition data rounded in a seemingly inconsequential manner. This would fail to reproduce the results of runs with the unrounded initial condition data. In short, a very small change in initial conditions created a significantly different outcome.
> 
> The idea that a butterfly could have a far-reaching ripple effect on subsequent historic events made its earliest known appearance in  _A Sound of Thunder_  by Ray Bradbury (first published in 1952). In the story, Time Safari Inc. offers high paying clients the opportunity to go back in time to hunt a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Eckels panics at the sight of the dinosaur and falls off the levitating path, stepping on a butterfly. When they return to the future, people speak and write English differently, and the recent election results are completely different.
> 
> When taking Transwarp technology into consideration, and the events that led the _Laplace Explorer_ to transmit information to NASA one hundred years before the ship ever existed, who is to say that this “apparent” alteration did not have an effect on our future? Did we avoid stepping on the butterfly, or are we living in the timeline where we  _did_ and are just aren’t aware of it?

Professor Gerbera closed the document in his HUD and crossed the threshold into his laboratory. The space descended further into his workshop space, where the remains of the  _Zero One_  were stored... the pieces Zeong had found with him, anyways. It was an incomplete shell. The explosion from the Spacebridge had left scars that were not worth repairing. And what would he do with it, anyways? The vessel was useless to him now. At most, it was a museum piece. He had been unable to part with it.

A black hand traced against the scarred skeleton. A piece of fuselage. A ripped flag. Part of the console. A shattered, drained Transwarp drive…

He knew of the risks posed by the improper destruction of Transwarp tech. But, after two thousand years, it was hard to believe that the implosion of the _Zero One’s_  drive could have created a significant paradox. Time travel a paradox did not equate, alone. Not according to his calculations. The survival of Commander Sazabi was worrisome, though. What changed? Were they truly in a loop that Captain had enough sense to break?

(The GP-04 is sent into space. The Spacebridge explodes. The _Zero One_ Transwarp drive is destroyed and flings its passenger into a rift in time. The Gundam is found by It and shown the reality of his abandonment. Professor Gerbera erects the Dark Axis. Captain Gundam and the Gundam Force trump the Dark Axis in Neotopia, killing Commander Sazabi. Captain Gundam and the Gundam Force trump Dark Axis once and for all, killing the General. Years pass. The GP-04 is sent into space. The Spacebridge explodes...)

(Captain Gundam and the Gundam Force trump the Dark Axis in Neotopia, but this time  _spare the butterfly…!)_

Gerbera ignored the  _Zero One_  remains for now. If the past had truly been changed, he wouldn’t have been standing in front of the wreckage of his old ship at all. Even if the wingbeat of a butterfly could cause a tornado, the wisps under he insect’s wings hadn’t gained enough momentum to make significant change. The Professor was still just that: the Professor. SIC to General Zeong and creator of the Dark Axis hierarchy. The GP-04 was still sent into space on schedule in this timeline. If Captain Gundam really  _had_ sent them adrift into a new sea of opportunities, it did not affect Neotopia’s launch of the  _Zero One._

Yet.

Gerbera ripped his hand away from the hull of the  _Zero One_ , as if the wretched corpse had burned him. Ridiculous. If the General was already changing alterations to the time-flow, and his most loyal servant hadn’t disappeared already, it meant that Captain and the humans still abandoned him. There was no changing what was already set in stone. Commander Sazabi was saveable in Neotopia’s eyes, and not their own creation in Madnug. What wretched  _apes_.

He heard the auditory hallucinations before he felt Its presence, creeping into the corners of his mind with tendrils. Yes, what savage organic vermin, abandoning you so callously. They were not your friends.  _I_ am your friend. Let me comfort you.

“In a moment,” he griped. “I am busy.”

Gerbera descended further into his workshop. Past his “Academy” stations, workbenches, all the way into the bowels of the dark laboratory. Adjacent to his main operating theatre was the darkened cove with his most important equipment. Packed together with meticulous organization were dozens of AI crafting computers, a  _Stalemate_ console, a massive slab with reinforced restraints and—

The Professor a huge drew his pistols and opened fire, tearing his own equipment to shreds. The first shot hit its target dead on: one of the larger computers. A spark caught inside and the unit exploded instantly. Fire spread to the next device, arching up one of the tallest towers. Gerbera fired more rounds to make sure there was nothing left to salvage.

There would be no more Commanders: no more butterflies to tempt unsightly tornadoes.

**vi**

He was a scientist. It was all he knew. It was all he would  _ever_ know.

With that said, it wasn’t a career path he chose for himself. No, he was born into the role. Assigned to it. Tasked. Other mobile citizens were permitted to chose their functions for themselves, but Gundams? They were a different breed of  _speciality_. Captain Gundam was crafted to be a defender. Guneagle to be an aerial specialist. The Gundivers, later the Gunchoppers, to be search-and-rescue. He wasn’t a humanitarian, but his understanding was that they were created for those roles and then allowed to “chose” if that was what they really wanted... and of course, being subservient and wanting to please their creators, the Neotopian Gundams simply did as they were told. Yes, retirement was an option later. So in the meantime they were eager slaves.

Madnug had fallen for it so easily and learned the hard way the mistake he had made. Professor Gerbera was disguised.

Then again, he was  _good_ at what he knew: even if it  _was_ forced labor under the guise of Neotopia’s charisma. How often did scientists get the chance  _to create an entire army bent on multiverse domination?_

It wasn’t necessarily “fun,” but the discovery phase of creating the Axians had given him purpose. The first world Zeong took them to, to allow his new servant to harvest supplies, was the perfect proving ground for his genius. The fossils of long-extinct fauna provided enough DNA to build a digital blueprint. Converting it into multiple mechanical schematics came with artistic liberties. He wanted them to look and behave as little like humans as possible, while still maintaining many of the same efficiencies as their creator. The result was the first Zako soldiers, Doga bombers, Hy-Goog assassins... bipedal, but beastial. Refined, but ravenous. The optic had been a personal touch to link them to the General and make them as inhuman in appearance as possible. Their modified Brain World, the Newtype Network, was meant to stimulate hivemind behaviour.

It didn’t stop there.

He continued to create and experiment. With no humanitarian committee to stop him, he let his imagination run wild. He served God, but he himself was also a god! It was glorious to have so much  _control_ , when he himself had been born with so little of it. He used that control to craft and refine the innermost workings of the Dark Axis. He created the first elite soldiers by selecting the most proven soldiers and reworking their preloaded AI. He used still-functioning Zako AI under the surface programming of the Zakorello Color Guard agents, to create the first functioning proxies. He designed and oversaw the construction of the first invasion musais. He engineered the bagu-bagu and the petrification serum.

Then came the Commanders.

Building the first was not easy, but practice made perfect. Kikeroga was rough around the edges, and their production was marred with constant delays. Getting the AI right had been the hardest aspect of all (and even then, they were dull beyond belief). At least they persevered on the battlefield. Z’Gok was better, and the first unit built after a few dozen runs through the  _Stalemate_ simulation. The personality core was still lacking, though. Darkron went through a hundred runs. Gatsha through five hundred. Kriegar through two thousand... the more he made, the better they came out. Using a computer simulation  _Stalemate_ to teach them how to be ruthless conquerors was just the half of it, but still important. It was fascinating to see how far he could push the models before the AIs began to show strain.

(Commander Sazabi had pushed this limit to the extreme. Gerbera only decided to pull him from the Stalemate simulation to save the situation in the Cyberian invasion. Kikeroga’s failure meant Sazabi had to be launched before the true extent of his mental prowess could be revealed.)

(Don’t think about Sazabi.)

Perhaps the most fascinating experiment Gerbera conducted was placing his handmade AI into circulation at production plants. Command-class AI, really. The usual AIs shoved into grunt soldiers were randomized with basic parameters, never meant to be “leadership” models unless the random-generator came up with a decent algorithm. The odds of that happening were approximately ten thousand to one. Assuming those units survived, they would make decent squadron leads or potential commandos. It was impossible for a command-class AI to be generated unless the equation was manually dropped into the que by someone who knew how to make them.

Professor Gerbera loved picking out the black sheep to watch them squirm.

A Doga Bomber, struggling to take orders without shaking in terror, wanting to preserve themselves because that’s what command-class models were supposed to do.

A Zako soldier, cowering in fear as they tried to understand why they were considered disposable, when their programmed screamed at them that they were not.

Zeong was God. There was no denying that. There was no question if It was “a” God, Its power was too great. To assume It was one of many also assumed It was on equal ground with the others. The General was all consuming. By extension, it made Gerbera Its prophet. He was God to these Axians, in his own right. He controlled when they were born. When they marched into battle. When they died under the banner of the Dark Axis and the General Zeong Itself.

Commander Sazabi was an exception. A heretic. Being a Commander was all he knew, and yet he disobeyed.

When it first came to Gerbera’s attention that Sazabi survived the battle on the Horn of War, he was stunned. His prescribed fate as it was written in history supported only one-third of his shock. The second-third was from the realization that Sazabi did not utalize his self-destruct sequence on his own, once he inevitably realized he was captured by the enemy. The Commanders were designed with a killswitch meant to destroy them if they were ever compromised. For Sazabi, meant to exist in a position of power always, did not adhere to the basic concept of destroying himself if he ever became something  _less_. Being a command-class AI was all he knew. It was all he would  _ever_ know, yet he chose to do something  _else_. Become a prisoner. Live with metaphorical shackles in the custody of a goddamn human.

Had too many runs of Stalemate corrupted his perfect creation? Made Sazabi’s immaculate AI adaptable in the face of losing its intended purpose? Allowed it to evolve beyond its predetermined parameter and take on a new path, from world conqueror to home cleaner? No. Impossible. The Ghost in Gerbera’s perfect Machine was at fault, not the Machine proper. The Professor did not make mistakes. It was the  _tool_ that had broken.

When the _Gundam Musai_ ’s head appeared in the General’s chamber, Kibaomaru sent Cobramaru to attach himself to the ship. Deathscythe had sent a vector of a magic tag to do the same. Through those means, they were able to spy on the crew within. The reveal of the Commander’s survival came with a fresh delivery of  _rice balls._ Rice balls! Some of which were even  _made_ by Sazabi (and enjoyed by Captain)! Even without the Zakorello Gate, patching his way across dimensional space was possible with the aid of Deathscythe. Gerbera was able to remotely locate and reacquire control of the rogue Zako Red proxy, who had been wandering aimlessly outside the colony for weeks. From there it was a matter of avoiding SDG detection and getting to the Ray household to begin surveillance.

Commander Sazabi  _mowing the lawn._

Through the proxy, Gerbera grabbed at his head and had to resist the urge to  _scream_.

It was even worse than that. Weeding the garden. Washing the windows. Doing indoor chores as well, although those were harder to survey with the proxy’s height and the too-high ground floor windows. Sazabi had gone from a cage-bound creature of destruction to a housebroken pet. His hard words towards his human wardens meant nothing: actions spoke louder than words, always. Sazabi should have tried to poison them every night, lunge for them regardless of the security lock, make every attempt possible  _to murder them cold..._ yet he did not. Sazabi was changing his purpose.

He was a scientist. It was all he knew. It was all he would  _ever_ know.

Sazabi was an invader. It was all he knew. Yet he was adapting into something completely different, that he should have never understood.

On his final night of observations, Zako Red transmitted how Sazabi ate dinner with the Rays and their house guest, the psychiatrist “assigned” to Sazabi’s oversight. Gerbera would have never remembered her name if it wasn’t for what he heard earlier. Perez had an electromagnetic rifle in the back of her trunk, powerful enough to kill a large mech. Even for all their talk of peace, the SDG still had weapons fitted for human-use after all... Captain Gundam’s special dispensation meant nothing. Human nature prevailed in its most violent fashion. Perez had hoped to convince Keiko to her cause, but Keiko would have none of it. Perez would be allowed to stay for dinner, and then she had to  _leave_ and  _never come back._

Not once did Sazabi try to lunge and snap Keiko’s neck. Not once did he attempt to weaponize his oral hatch and bite her mate. Not once did he make the effort to take one of the knives to pierce it through Perez’s skull. And the baby, after dinner, he took on his own accord without prompt.

Security bolt be damned, complacency was surrender. Sazabi had thrown away all he was supposed to be, while Gerbera - Madnug -  _had to suffer in this role created for him._

Zako Red was maneuvered into position on the back road that evening. When Perez’s vehicle came into view, he waited. Her reaction time was delayed. Dinner in the Ray household with the Commander had driven her to distraction. She yanked the wheel to the right, and the car tried to veer left around him. Professor Gerbera used the proxy to push the car as it tried to pass. The metal cage flipped and rolled over the guardrail and into the woods below. He ripped the trunk open and took the rifle first. Then he tore the door from the hinges to get at the human within.

“You’re not working with him,” she said weakly.

Professor Gerbera seized her by the hair.

“Fear is my colleague,” it said, and smashed her against the steering column. She was unconscious after the first blow, but he repeated the motion a second time. A third. Again and again. Again, again, again. By the time he regained control of himself, the proxy was rattling with tremors. Fear was his colleague, but so was  _anger_.

He was a scientist. It was all he knew. It was all he would  _ever_ know.

And his ungrateful creation would be  _dead_ before he allowed Sazabi to be anything other than Commander.

**vii**

Gerbera had never tasted true disobedience, nor had he ever felt the urge to do so. He assumed his creations would be the same.

It was the one true mistake he made in his career as the Professor.

Even as  _Madnug_ , the notion behind rule breaking never came naturally to him. At least not in its most brazen form... he did exactly as he was told,  _when_ he was told, in the Blanc Base labs for pre-mission testing. But what was  _obedient_ and  _not obedient_ was often left to interpretation. While he was not allowed to adjust his mission parameters for the Spacebridge test himself, he could spam the mission control department inbox several hundred times in a minute. They were simple requests, to be fair. Asking to alter specs of the _Zero One_ he found redundant, re-calibrating the engine capacity, adjusting the position of the Transwarp jump drive containment... he was a scientist like them! His opinion was important, especially when he was intended to be the ship’s pilot. He was told by his handlers and Kao Lyn to let the mathematicians work in peace. So Madnug, also being a mathematician, accessed the project server and used several accounts to coordinate alteration bids himself. Kao Lyn had to remove his admin access from Blanc Base for the rest of the day. He wasn’t breaking rules necessarily: only twisting them so he could make improvements.

Making the Axians from his image, intellectually, was a mistake. They were not disobedient necessarily... but they also knew how to twist the rules, and twist them they  _did_.

It was never large distractions, not at first. A failed order or two could not be held as a surprise. The Axians were meant to be functioning “people” on their own rather than just machines. It meant they could learn from their mistakes and be more efficient in battle. Computers could not do that. Not without taking mindless time replaying the same scenario over and over again with similar results.

A computer simulation trying to jump over a computer generated log? Thirty tries, at best. A Dark Axis AI trying to jump over a log? They’d go around it on the second attempt.

Unfortunately,  _people_ had could make their own decisions that went against computer simplicity. A Doga Commando fraternizing with a Gundam enemy during the Cyberian Station takeover. Zakos who retreated rather than throw themselves at enemy front lines. Commanders who showboated their strengths during an invasion for too long and got themselves killed even after they were ordered to  _shut up_ and just  _do their job_. (If Commander Haou had spent a little less time showing off his military prowess and more time paying attention to the Radhaven natives tunnelling a nuke under his Horn of War, he would still be alive.)

With so few Axians left for Gerbera to utilize for the General’s final stand, there was no room for error. The order he gave was clear: class two or below units were not to engage in relations beyond military. Friendships that were “distracting” were not tolerated. Anything more than that was punishable to whatever extreme Gerbera saw fit.

GA-LL3 was testing his patience. Despite being one of the few non-command AI leads he had left, he was bonded and refused to sever the link to his lover before the final strike on Ark. Such behaviour could not be allowed. KR-45H was two generations older and stood out from the rest of the units easily. All the Doga Bomber units below Commando rank were cast the same color and were not repainted after battles. KR-45H’s face was silver rather than brown: a dogfight of some kind had scraped the paint clear off, gouging the metal in ugly scars. His optic was cracked to the point of half-blinding him. He had a limp. KR-45H was still effective enough to warrant not being euthanized, but the injuries were still blatant.

On one of the Fortress’ security feeds, Gerbera caught the two “preening” each other from the safety of their hangar roost. The loose DNA-to-TNA program algorithm the Professor had used as the Doga Bomber base led them to engage in this kind of behaviour, sometimes. A hideous by-product. of GA-LL3 was nuzzling and gently snapping his emergency hatch at KR-45H, touching his wings and digging his digits into dips to remove loose debris. KR-45H leaned into it, vibrating and offering low vocalizations back. It wasn’t sexual. Affection only, to a disgusting level.

What was it that drew Sazabi to do as he did? To betray the Dark Axis in a manner so grossly charged by the will of the humans. Was it because he felt compelled to be  _loved_ by them? Adaptation to survive their incarceration, to be something other than a Commander, was only the half of it.

(Humans were not worthy of love and admiration. They were evil.)

(Gerbera had once felt something for Sazabi. He had built him to be Perfect in every way, both as a weapon and on a personal level. Sazabi had never indicated he felt anything for Gerbera, which made his affair with the humans all the more insulting.)

KR-45H was being affectionate back. Biting at the other Doga Bomber’s throat, pulling open a wing panel and plucking the hypersensitive wires within. GA-LL3 shuttered and buckled. Ah, yes, there was the sex. Programmed with ancient animals in mind and behave like animals they would. No wonder Sazabi’s betrayal had so frustrating. An animal cornered would bite, and  _bite_ was exactly what Sazabi did. To the servo that fed him, no less! The second Zako Red revealed himself to the Commander on that human’s yard, he should have been  _grateful_ for the opportunity to be put out of his misery! With no interface arrays to speak up, Gerbera watched the two mechs sway and make due with the resources available. KR-45H overloaded first, already stimulated from their preening beforehand. GA-LL3 followed suit with a yawn of his jaw and turbine misfire. Both sagged against each other. Then continued to preen before locking their stance for recharge. Fingers entwined. Heads pressed close.

It felt his hatred, and It went to fulfil him. Who was the say that the General was not kind, in Its own way. It understood his anger and was willing to state him. KR-45H staggered into the General’s chambers less than an hour later, shaking with anticipation or fear or both. His optic pulsed as he was made to shuffle to the edge of an acid pool. Not against his will, necessarily. It was very good at convincing Its prey to go in willingly, like the Professor.

“It’s not you.” Professor Gerbera said, letting his platform hover close. “It’s your mate that’s being punished. This is a  _reward_ for you, actually.”

“Yes,” KR-45H said. The mech had a synthesized, deep codec that was far from attractive. Like their individual AIs, all the Axians had randomly generated voices as well. The General’s influence made his words slur, even more unattractive. Whatever did GA-LL3 see in him? “Reward...”

“Go.”

KR-45H resisted for a moment. He locked himself in place in a final attempt to resist. The cracked optic rolled back and Gerbera felt the desperate attempt to ping his bondmate through the Newtype Network. Not for help, actually: one last data-packet equivalent of “IT GOT ME” and “I LOVE YOU.” Pathetic. KR-45H was dead within seconds of hitting the pool. The acid flushed into his processor through the open visor of his face and into his brain. Agony, bliss, then nothing.

The protest from GA-LL3 was so intense, it woke half of the flock from recharge.

Disobedience was punished, and love wasn’t real. Why else had the humans left him to die? Why else had no one saved  _him_ when loyalty should have been rewarded? Commander Sazabi got exactly what he deserved.

So why did he still feel bad?

**viii**

Obedience. Function.

Disobedience. Adaptation.

What changed for Sazabi, to learn to be disobedient? To learn to be something he was not?

Playing by the rules given to you, and achieving victory at all costs, was one of the rules of  _Stalemate_. It was paramount to winning the game. The running program from which Commander AI were run was designed by Gerbera, and the game was immaculate in honing strategic skills. A combination of multi-level chess with over a million starting position possibilities, and a billion potential game outcomes. Command AIs were easy enough to make on their own with a few days of spare time, but truly  _honing_ them was for the simulation to do. Early on in Sazabi’s development (one of the earliest versions before V10), was making sure that Sazabi understood that he had to play by the rules presented to him. There was no appeasing the enemy or creating a situation where  _both_ sides could win.

Yet, after the battle on the Horn of War in Neotopia, Sazabi… managed to do that. After several thousand iterations through Stalemate had told him  _not_ to.

The footage from Neotopia’s invasion had transmitted up until the moment Captain Gundam pulled his fist back, poised to smash the Commander’s Soul Drive to pieces. The footage cut before the moment of impact. The rift between dimensions had caused a delay in the footage delivery. Without the Soul Drive, the modified RAIMI system connected to Sazabi stopped functioning. All transmissions over a trans-dimensional field disbanded and scattered to prevent detection. Professor Gerbera watched unsatisfied, knowing that he would not be able to witness the explosion from the self-destruct sequence. The relish in watching it consume his brother would have been cathartic. He watched the footage multiple times after the battle, analyzing it to get whatever satisfaction he could, before the signal... started back up again. A glitch? It had to be. There was no pictorial data, only mindless nonsense. Maybe the black Soul Drive’s residual energy was still coming through.

Then he found out that Sazabi was still alive. He kept transmitting because the Soul Drive wasn’t destroyed, and he didn’t kill himself to preserve his function as Commander. The bastard had become self-preserving when he was not supposed to.

“You won too many games of Stalemate,” the Professor hissed. “You don’t know how to lose _.”_

After weeks of observation, Professor Gerbera put his final plan into motion. He organized his squadron of Doga Bombers, made a list of Neotopian assets to destroy while he was at least in the neighborhood (Kao Lyn, anyone who worked on the Spacebridge, others), and retrieved the electromagnetic rifle. In his final interaction with Deathscythe before he disappeared. Not  _killed_ , the General still felt his lifeforce  _present_ in the multiverse. The Knight Gundam used his magic to transport the Doga Bombers. Gerbera met them just outside the colony limits. The stealth units would only keep their signatures hidden for a short time before the SDG got wise.

The Professor had Zako Red gesture to the nearest unit, then to two other Doga Bombers on either side of him. “You two. Cannibalize his flight apparatus. I require it.”

AN-G3L and H4-NEL launched themselves at ST-3V3, tearing him apart with obedient relish. The Doga Bomber was still alive when they tore his wings, turbines, and necessary circuitry from his body. A bullet was not wasted. All their necessary artillery was needed for Sazabi and the humans of the city. The dying unit still choking on intakes when the others grafted the stolen wings to the proxy. They were ready to launch on his signal, should the first shot from the electromagnetic rifle not be enough.

Function.

Zako Red took the most direct approach to the situation. He simply walked through the sliding glass door, which Keiko had left unlocked for Sazabi. The baby was in a swinging seat in the living room while her mother made dinner in the kitchen. A thought passed through his head to shoot her and hurt Captain’s  _best friend_ in the worst way possible, but no: these rounds were for Sazabi alone. He picked up the baby and walked into the next room.

“Oh, that was fast. Would you get Nana, Sazabi? She was fussing for you earlier.” Keiko turned around and dropped the knife she was using to cut chicken. One hand flew to her mouth, the other raised in surrender.

“Two cans of gasoline,” Zako Red said. Keiko was gone no less than a second later, straight for the shed.

Obedience.

The fire did its purpose to attract Sazabi. Leaving the human inside had come with extra perks, too. The Commander rushed into the house, adding to his distraction and giving the Professor longer to prepare his aim. A shot to the back of the neck would suffice in shutting down all his major systems. In hindsight, sending a trained sniper squadron lead would have been a strategically better choice. Hell, sending  _Nightingale_ to wreck havoc on the city proper would have been a better choice than the single Doga Bomber flock. But the Professor had surgical precision and vengeance on his side. He needed to do this himself. Had to.

Sazabi was too disobedient to die on the first shot. Sazabi had adapted too much to surrender at the sight of his old proxy, and the imprisoned baby held hostage.

“Enough!”

Heavy dust and embers scattered where Sazabi blasted forward, meaning to seize Zako Red. His own rage towards the Commander had temporarily blinded the Professor. He activated the stolen flight array and blasted aside, then upwards. The infant human was screaming. At least the larva properly knew its purpose as well. Sazabi collided with the top of the house, sending wood and shingles everywhere. The Commander howled.

“Now, now. You know that if you lash out and harm me, you’ll fall out of the sky. But you’ll have to come get the little maggot. If you care about it.”

He turned and flew into the sunset.

At this point? A lack of obedience and understanding of function no longer mattered. It would die with the end of the day, like the end of a particularly good game of Stalemate.

**ix**

For the first time in two thousand years, he stopped thinking about Captain Gundam. His mind revolved -  _devolved_ \- around Commander Sazabi for days straight, unchallenged and unimpeded.

Gerbera had no idea where the SDG found his Soul Drive. That information was not disclosed to him when he came online. Was it classified? Likely. The Soul Drives were ancient human tech and bound to a foul purpose. Connecting the minds of humans to robots? Nothing good could have ever been made to come of that. The General was evidence of that. It had a Soul Drive, and the cruelty of the humans who created It drove it to perfect destruction. No, there was no discovering where his or Its Soul Drive came from exactly.

With that said, the discovery of Commander Sazabi’s was  _not_ shrouded in mystery. The  _Deikun Azunaburu_ held striking similarities to the  _Neos One,_ and was likely one of the sister flagships that had fled Earth when the humans were forced to evacuate. From what? Zeong implied It knew, but was also unwilling to disclose. In the end such triviality didn’t matter to Gerbera. He was fine not knowing. The catastrophic destruction of the  _Deikun Azunaburu’s_ main engines had caused the Transwarp drives to drain, and the resulting time-space distortion had led it to gravitate towards the next largest space-time anomaly... just as the  _Zero One_ debris and Madnug had, the ruined  _Deikun Azunaburu_  found the Fortress. The crew had expired from starvation or murdering each other. The other humans in cryogenic storage were long-deceased as well, suffocated. The ship’s cargo contained a high number of weapons that were recovered, but there was something else as well. More than extra scrap metal and fuel.

Kikeroga’s voice was bored, even coming through Zako Platinum. It was astounding how not even the Commandos were smart enough to recognize the proxy. In the zero-gravity environment, the Color Guard puppet pushed aside the frozen corpse of a woman. Keter’s optic flashed, as nonplussed as the Commander controlling them. “Oh. More dead organics. The skeleton crew.”

Doga Black revved. Gerbera never bothered remembering his actual name. Like Kikeroga, he would be dead less than a year later. Commandos had a remarkable turnover rate, anyways. The present leader of the Four swung his optic around to watch the body go adrift. Preserved and congealed for hundreds of years, blood floated past with it. “They fought each other. They knew they were going to die and turned to violence.”

Keter, Doga Black, and Professor Gerbera drifted further into the main atrium of the ship’s deck. A gun, still covered in preserved blood, floated by and dinged the present Commando in the head. He reached up to swat at it, causing it to discharge.

“Be careful!” Gerbera’s voice was a hiss. “If you damaged what was in here…!”

He could feel it from the Fortress, before It even told him to investigate. Floating at the highest point of the atrium was a robot body, scarred by fire and bullet holes.

“Captain’s was found in a box,” he mused. “The humans on this ship decided to install the one they had instead.”

“Captain?” Kikeroga said through Keter. He flashed the Zako proxy’s optic. The platinum puppet trembled with rising anticipation. “Who…?”

Gerbera turned the body over. Inside, the Soul Drive flame was still burning.

“And then there were four,” he said.

Zeong wanted to weaponize it, as It once had the Professor. He obeyed and brought the Soul Drive back to his lab for analysis. It was mostly virgin: whatever the purpose of the robot it was installed inside, its experience was limited. The flame was dull, but it did not outwardly suffer from years of dormancy. Not in the way Madnug’s had, or Captain’s would when he finally got his servos on him.

He needed a unit to replace the mistakes he had procured in Nightingale. So he began construction on the Ultimate Commander. The newest Dark Axis Crown Jewel. The Soul Drive would be the perfect control device and power module.

After months of development, becoming a hermit in his own workshop, he finally began construction. With the Soul Drive off to the side, he turned on the processor on his desk. Then he activated the sensors. The computer flashed to life as the Ghost inside was born.  
  
“What is your name, unit?” He extended a pair of fine scissors past the bare skeleton’s cranial casing.

“I am Sazabi,” the Ghost said.

He cut. Good. Now it was time for assembly.

**x**

Professor Gerbera was fucking tired.

Another volley of hallucinations plagued him that evening, and they were particularly violent. They were less than a day away from the border of Ark. In the middle of a forced recharge session to try and regain his strength, he was dreamt of Sazabi. Gerbera managed to drag Zako Red’s body away from the crater the Commander smashed into the hillside. He was still bound to the proxy from whatever horrid lock Sazabi had placed on it. As he forced Char onto his side to look back at the flames, he felt himself lock in place. Frozen, but burning at the same time as he watched the blazing wreckage move. Sazabi stood up, jaws agape, advancing on him with a shattered stare.

He woke up, but not really. He was surrounded by his dead Commanders. Nightingale was not there at least, but KR-45H was. The Doga Bomber jumped onto him and got very close to his face. His venting was fast and unnatural. The optical aperture was open too wide,  _impossibly_  wide. The jaws opened even wider. Pink fluorescent acid dripped from the oral hatch. Behave like animals indeed: KR-45H was ripping the metal away from his body and disembowelling his innards moments later. The armor was white. The other Commanders moved in to continue tearing him to pieces. Qubeley tore away an arm. Kriegar clawed apart his leg. Bawoo was plunging his hands into his midsection and pulling away meters of tubing, already ruptured and spraying fluids. KR-45H had cracked open his fuel tank and was eating the contents in front of him. It was hard to see with Zssa biting off half his face.

The Soul Drive screamed and forced him awake. It withered in terror.

Professor Gerbera was fucking tired  _and_ annoyed.

“That,” he said, “was  _rude.”_

Yes, It was hungry. It was  _always_ hungry. But rather than take the time to transport Gerbera to another dimension to try and find more Gundams, It had declined and tormented him anyways. He marched into the General’s chamber, taking his platform and manuevering it in front of the God’s tremendous face. He didn’t care that he was over the acid pit. He was exhausted. He was angry. He was... was...!

“Mighty General, if you were aware of the changing timeline, why didn’t you inform me?” The Professor trembled with rage. “You talk about reaching an End where you do not survive, and we are not successful. Yet you had ample time to warn me! I could have fixed this for you. Why did you not alert me to Sazabi’s survival after the battle on the Horn of War!? Why did you not  _tell me_  that he survived the impact into the hill!?”

You are not upset about the vision. Interesting.

“Don’t change the subject!” Gerbera moved the platform closer as the General’s three optics aligned, homing in on him. The massive forward-most aperture adjusted to focus. “I need to know!”

You did not  _need_ to know, It said. It was not necessary. While worrisome, the situation was being monitored.

“Not necessary!?” Professor Gerbera reached up— the mask was obscuring his true vision. He needed to see. He tore off Gerbera mask, glaring up at his Master with his true optics. Madnug felt his choked Soul Drive sputter as the battle-mask snapped back, too. “I am meant to assure your revival and ascension! How am I supposed to do that if you keep secrets from me!? What is going on!?”

I see every outcome. You do not need to know them all as I do, It said. You need to help steer in the right direction, when the time comes. Nothing less will suffice.

“No! Sazabi was meant to die on the Horn of War. His survival is a deviation from everything I accounted for. I should have been kept in the know. I could have destroyed him sooner and prevented—!”

You failed to destroy him at all.

“That’s not—! I would have made it a priority to ensure his destruction for sure! YOU ARE NOT—!”

A hand lashed out. The blow was unexpected. Zeong had never hit him before. Gerbera’s platform knocked into the wall, and the Gundam himself was snatched up like a small bird out of its nest. He shouted in surprise. The hand was massive and Gerbera was pinned inside that horrible fist. The servo gripped around him tight, consuming him. Squeezing. Metal groaned. Something popped ominously. Gerbera was swallowed by darkness and began to panic as the light vanished.

Darkness.

He was in the dark again. Floating. Helpless. Cold.

NOT AGAIN.

YOU WILL NOT SHOUT AT ME AS THEY DID.

“Master—!” Gerbera struggled. His cooling fans ran so hard, he was beading condensation. He was freezing. The darkness, it was so dark, too _dark...!_

YOU WILL  _NOT_ SHOUT AT ME AS  _THEY_ DID. 

YOU FLOATED FOR SUCH A LONG TIME.

Gerbera woke up next to an acid pool, beside the hardened remains of Commander Z’Gok. What Zeong couldn’t process always had to be fished out. Further back was Commander Zssa’s crushed head, marred with funnel laser holes. A wing apparatus belonging to Commander Bawoo was leaning against one of Commander Qubeley’s booster mounts. Braun-Doc’s leg armor was propped against a pile of Knight garbage. Other Gundam remains mixed with the Axian refuse, and in some places, it was hard to see what belonged to who. A nearby helmet shell from a Doga Bomber stared back at him, bleached silver.

Zeong watched him, silent. Judging.

Another hallucination stalked him. Captain Gundam standing across the way with Commander Sazabi at his side.

Captain saluted. His voice was warm. “We’re counting on you.”

“Sorry,” Sazabi muttered tiredly.

With another set of Gerbera armor ruined, the Professor sat up and buried his face in his hands. He refused to cry until he caved to the emotions of his pitiful Soul Drive. The tears from his cleaner ducts were fat and ugly.

**xi**

He promised himself he would make no more new Commanders. It was a lie.

He was a scientist. It was his function. He was obedient.

Madnug repaired the damage he had done to his workstation. Of course he could never make the area entirely unsalvageable. He was too perfect at his function for that. His ruined Gerbera armor sat on the next bench over. A new set would need to be printed and prepared before they arrived in Ark, but there was something he had to do first. He sat down, programmed a command-class AI on the same spectrum as Commander Sazabi’s, and turned it on. The process took less than an hour. The body was of one of the original prototype Zakos. He found it in storage when he needed to retrieve the molds for the Gerbera armor.

“What is your name, unit?”

The infant AI said its name. “Sinanju.”

“Good.” Madnug pressed the soldering iron against the exposed pain receptors.

“It hurts!”

“I know.”

“I don’t understand!”

“I  _know.”_

The unit’s processor tried to turn off. The crude failsafe that Madnug designed prevented the AI from retreating into a shutdown state. To chase relief in unconsciousness was impossible. The pain receptors flipped back on and locked in permeant activation as it tried to turn them off manually. Madnug twisted the tool as punishment.

“Please stop!” The body trembled in agony. It was tired, so  _tired_. Its vents flexed as pathways opened to vent smoke. Its internals overheated from stimulating its own suffering. “I’m in pain!  _Please!”_

“So am I,” Gerbera said, and tortured the AI for the next eight hours until it finally stopped Being.

**xii**

Sazabi ripped the gun out of the proxy’s hands. The gun stolen from Perez fell into the landscape below, gone and swallowed in twilight. The sun had set so its last rays faded into oblivion against the clouds. The comfort of night claimed the world below while the sky stained red overhead. Professor Gerbera had to hide his mortification. Without the electromagnetic rifle, he had no defense against Sazabi.

He had lost.

Gerbera did  _not_ like losing.

The rogue Commander was in no position to destroy the proxy himself, but Sazabi was up to something. He pulled up,  _straight_ up, and cut through the dark atmosphere above Neotopia. The damaged parts of his body sparked as water molecules made contact. The Doga Bombers below had no chance of keeping up. Sazabi was the fastest monstrosity Gerbera had ever created. Nothing compared to him, even when stripped of his armaments.

“This is pointless,” Gerbera said, who felt that he had to do something.  _Say_ something. Sazabi hated being taunted. He knew that because he programmed him that way. If he could no longer harm his creation physically, he could at least offer verbal abuse. “What do you mean to accomplish? You have no weapons. You cannot even tear this puppet’s arm off with your bare hands. And even if you do manage to attack it somehow, you’ll never hit me.”

Sazabi’s vicious laughter rattled his loose parts. It was so hoarse and rattled, the Professor wondered if his voice box had been damaged in the doga crossfire. “I don’t need weapons to attack you, Gerbera. You came to fight with only weaklings and a pathetic, cast-off shell. I don’t need to fire a single shot. And I don’t need to get my fingers around your wretched neck.”

They cleared empty threshold between the troposphere and the stratosphere. The sky was no longer stained red, turned to a sweeping black that consumed all. The stars were out. It was amazing to think that Gerbera once craved them. Now that darkness around their specks filled him with dread. The stars were an illusion. There was nothing out there, just darkness and despair. To think he was so close to where the fated Spacebridge had gone. Not one stray meteor in sight.

“But you knew you’d never overpower me. Even in my state, I more than outclass my own avatar.” Sazabi’s codec glitched. Ah, so he had been shot close to his voice box. Maybe he would break it trying to speak, so he wouldn’t have to listen to him anymore. No such luck. “So why are you here?”

“By my calculations, you were never supposed to survive,” Gerbera spat. He had no reason to keep talking, but the Professor felt compelled. By what? Anger? Sheer defiance to the fact that Sazabi ignored his all important function and disobeyed? He recalled his memory banks from the day of his activation telling him that Sazabi died on the Horn of War. Astounding! The Fate of Commander Sazabi was an infuriating story. Surely no human actually  _enjoyed_ this alternate version of history. “But no matter. Any data on Captain Gundam I could have ripped from your memory banks would have sufficed. It doesn’t matter either way.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? Of course it does!” Sazabi’s voice was an animal’s snarl. Programmed with animals in mind and behave they did. Animals did not adhere to rules of destiny, evidently. The huge mech pushed his thrusters to the limit. The heat they gave off travelled through both their bodies as the air got colder. “You sent me here! You knew that I would not return! Despite all that I am worth!”

Worth.

What a joke.

The low air density and stillness of the stratosphere propelled the flight smoothly upwards, no resistance. They were spread like battered butterfly wings. They were pushing the mesosphere. What was he planning? To take him into space and do  _what_ exactly? Keep him in his locked arms and go into orbit, yelling his receptor off until he got bored and unplugged from Zako Red? Being with the humans had made him soft  _and_ stupid. Into the dark they pushed onward. Into the field of stars that Gerbera recognized right away. Yes, the Spacebridge would have been positioned a few miles higher, directly overhead. It was peaceful. Treacherous and full of betrayal.

“Worth? You are worth nothing more than your utility to the General, a utility you have long outlasted!” Gerbera felt his voice tremble through the proxy. Everything hurt. He could see the Spacebridge clear as day, the _Zero One_ docked and ready to launch. The _Gundam Musai_ , hovering nearby. The Angel’s Roost suspension station (the one holding Blanc Base aloft) transmitted the launch countdown. He had been worthless once. So worthless that he faced abandonment in this darkness, too. “You were created to lead the Dark Axis into conquest, into worlds ripe for the General to consume. You were given a Soul Drive to elevate you above your soldiers, a symbolic tie to the General. A control device. Nothing more!”

“It’s time you understood that you are not the one in control,” Sazabi said. His flight boosters flickered and died. Out of fuel or disabled from the EMP rifle blasts, it didn’t matter. Gerbera struggled to break free, but the stolen flight array did not function. Sazabi’s grip was too strong. Was he ever going to let him go?

While Gerbera could not demand loyalty of Sazabi, gravity could. They began to fall.

He made to disconnect. There was no reason to stay. Sazabi would not survive the descent... but rather than waking up in the safety of his lab, he felt something grab on and  _pull him back._  He reactivated his optical feed to see he was still encased in Sazabi’s arms. The Commander still had access to non-articulated functions relating to his old proxy! He connected wirelessly and locked the Professor in.

“What? How dare you! Let me go!”

“You will experience this!” Sazabi yelled. They fell faster.  _Faster_. The cold thin air got hotter, a tornado of heat. The “You will know my suffering, and you will know defeat!”

“How dare you speak to me of suffering?! You know nothing!” Gerbera tried to disconnect again. Sazabi’s mental lock on the proxy was a death grip.

“This is only a taste of the loss you will sustain, for underestimating my worth! The worth of all you have wasted!” Sazabi’s voice broke. “The worth of  _worlds!”_

The cold wind howled. The heat was tremendous, scorching their bodies as they surged downward. So fast, it felt like they were  _ascending_. Sazabi activated his rockets again, but the thrust was aimed towards the ground. He wasn’t slowing their descend— he was accelerating it. Insanity! This wasn’t an accidental fall, it was intentional. Suicide! The first flickers of pain-data crossed over and Gerbera struggled against it. He tried every override he could think of and nothing worked. He was trapped until the proxy died and he felt all the  _hurt_ that came with it. He thought of the  _Zero One_  and howled. Something inside of Sazabi’s head exploded. The mech’s end of the Newtype Network went from hot and bright to dark and warm.

The Commander held Gerbera tighter.

“Sorry,” Sazabi muttered tiredly.

They broke the sound barrier. There was a sound of thunder.

Madnug was in agony before they even slammed into the ground.

**xiii**

Captain Gundam saluted. His voice was warm. “We’re counting on you.”

Madnug saluted back. “Rodger!”

Neotopia was alone in the galaxy. More than three hundred years earlier, the city founders established the colony to assure the survival of humanity. They fled their original world when a catastrophic event destroyed it. Sole survivors of the singularity that ruined their Old World, they terraformed the planet and made it their second Earth. Neotopia was still the only city, but it glistened in the darkness. Full of life. Hope.

While the SDG had explored (and saved) many dimensions, the stars still beckoned. What else was out there? What if other space carriers like the  _Neos One_  had survived? Earth had a massive population. The odds of only one ship, just one, surviving was exponentially low. Other humans had to be out there. If the Spacebridge project was successful, they could throw probes and space-bound crews across expanses of space. And at the very least, if no other human survivors were out there, they had the opportunity to explore. To learn.

They already sent the banana. Now it was Madnug’s turn. They were counting on him.

A rumble.

_Error._

“What is happening?” Madnug jerked forward at the console, scanning the display as the emergency warnings came up.

The experiment was failing. Debris had struck one of the stabalizer rings, and the _Zero One_ was going too fast to slow down or safely divert course. How could this have been? He was assured there were no stray meteors. The space crew cleared the field hours earlier and they were given the clear.

The humans... they  _had_ to have known of this failure. That was why no one would look at him when he boarded the ship. That was why Captain had been so grave, giving him his final salute. That was why Madnug’s Soul Drive hurt so much as he approached that final damaged ring. The _Zero One_ ’s engines overheated and the Transwarp drive detonated.

The ship exploded.

Madnug was overwhelmed in the explosion, and Gerbera was born before the It even found him. The handshake between the General and his new servant was never necessary to facilitate the hatred for humans born inside of him. Centuries later, relief from his new living hell would only come with the splash of an acid pit.

Sazabi was right.

About what?

It didn’t matter.

This time, Madnug would finally disappear.


	18. Viola Perez

**Put to rest what you thought of me,**

**while I clean this slate with the hands of uncertainty.**

**So let mercy come...**

**I’ll face myself to cross out what I’ve become.**

**Erase myself and let go of**

_What I’ve Done_ \- Linkin Park

**i**

The first scream outside her window went unnoticed.

Finals were underway at Laplace Von Braun Research Institute close to the heart of the city. One short train ride away from the government sector and center plaza, Neotopia Tower stood as a silent vigil over the population below. The campus lay in its shadow but never in a way that was uncomfortable. If you asked anyone, they would tell you it was _soothing_. Billions of miles away from a home planet they would never see in their lifetimes, the tower was a reminder that the lonely colonists were never truly alone in the universe... not so long as they all had each other. Not so long as they persevered where their ancestors on Earth failed.

The huge building sat in the background of her office window as she finished her work, stacking and sorting files for a summer hibernation. Three hours in and she was almost finished. The intern students assigned to her programming team had left hours earlier to study for their exams, wishing her pleasant goodbyes. Many offered to help with the cleanup but she declined. Some would be back in the fall, others would not. She was sad to see any of them go with all the progress they had made. Their research into new neural interfaces for mobile citizens damaged from Wipes had gone so well. By this time next year, they would have a alpha version of their “cure” for Software Decay. _Robot Alzheimer’s,_ one of the seniors kept calling it.

As she stacked her personal books by the windowsill, she stared out at the tower. Also in the backdrop against the evening was the Air Dinette blimp. Its trademark LED screen was lit up with _Good Luck Students_ in bold and reassuring letters. Laplace Von Braun wasn’t the only campus locked in for final tests and oncoming graduation dates.

A second scream also went unnoticed.

Dr. Viola Perez was not just a cyberneurologist. She was the _leading_ cyberneurologist. Two years earlier when she had her private practice but no credit grants to spare for clinical testing, the Super Dimensional Guard had brought her in to monitor the effects of the Soul Drive on Captain Gundam. Viola thought of it less like working for a secret government organization and more like an opportunity to advance her main projects. The Soul Drive was a unique little device unlike anything she had ever seen before, unlike anything Neotopia would see again. It transmitted frequencies able to mimic and influence human brain waves, but what was its power source? What let it _do_ that? Even when the rings (made of an unknown material, that information was still listed as _redacted)_ stopped spinning, the flame within kept burning. The sphere that housed it had unknown chemical properties unlike modern man made crystal. The assignment was intriguing but quickly dead-ended. Captain Gundam was too “young” a model to observe manually with success. The effort of her research would have to be done through computers, but when the data was still being run through her simulations? She had other tasks to keep her busy.

Her request for proper credit grants to go towards her life’s work went through without a hitch. The SDG was willing to give her whatever she wanted to keep her on board. As a _summa cum laude_ alumna of Laplace Von Braun, it was only natural that she set up her first public lab there. The students who caught wind of her project were quick to jump on as her first assistants, analysts, programmers... all thanks to that little Soul Drive and the Gundam Force’s blind installation of it into one of their robots, Dr. Viola Perez finally had—

The third scream outside her window finally caught her attention.

Viola looked up from the most recent folder she was binding in elastics. The findings from the latest beta version of their Software Decay patch, or was it the dozens of articles about Wipe misconduct as relevant to their clinical trials? The shout had caught her so unawares, she froze. The campus had been so quiet... she set the folder down on the shelf, picking up an even heavier bundle of papers. Oh, yes, _this_ was the article collection. It weighed heavier than the rest of the files so far. She moved to the window, heels clicking on the linoleum floor and echoing in the empty room. The window fogged as she got close enough to breathe on it.

Outside, several students had gathered on the quad. Whether it was to take a break from studying or walk between academic buildings didn’t matter. At first nothing appeared wrong. It wasn’t until Viola saw students pointing _up_ that she adjusted her line of sight. The same black backdrop that served as the canvas for Neotopia Tower had specks glittering across the surface. Moving fast. Descending. Drones? A prank from the technology majors? Most likely, but the loose-mouth tech student she worked with hadn’t suggested anything of the sort. Students knew better than to prank during finals.

(Unless they were Kao Shi Lyn, who was still a “Laplace Legend.” Five thousand bananas and the dean’s office. He hadn’t been allowed to walk at graduation and would have been named a magna cum laude. A summa cum laude, if he had spent less time being a public menace and more time being an academic. A real hall-of-famer, that one.)

One of the items hit a human student in the head, dropping her to the pavement in a heap. The sound of metal hitting bone hitting concrete _cracked_ and sent the noise straight up to where Viola stood. Her hand flew to her mouth. The blow sent the poor girl careening into the throes of a seizure and Perez saw blood stream through her blonde hair. The offending projectile bounced and rolled, black and red in a pointed cone shape.

A fourth scream rose up from the quad, but not in response to the girl... another group of students across the grass were trying to hold down a GM who also must have been hit. The mech was struggling with something attached to... what _was_ that? On his head— there! Viola couldn’t see well past all the bodies, but the black and red color was unmistakable as the same kind of object. One of the human boys was thrown back as he was punched in the jaw by the afflicted GM.

If it was a prank, it had stopped being funny. Another student peeled across the walkway connecting the academic buildings shouting something incoherent. More screams. Students started to make a run for it.

A femme GM that Viola recognized as Professor Consolo rushed over to help the fallen human student, the one struck in the head. The girl had stopped thrashing and was bleeding onto the asphalt where the names of famous scientists were engraved. Also approaching was a second GM that Viola also recognized: one of the interns who worked with her during the semester. Sammy, a shy mechanical engineer major set to graduate. He was already kneeling next to the girl and untying her sweater from around her waist to put pressure on her head.

Dropping out of the sky, another one of those objects landed on the top of Professor Consolo’s head and _latched._

The teacher ground to a halt and staggered. As the item attached itself, it made a whirl that Viola recognized immediately: a high powered magnet. Extremely painful if applied so close to a mecha’s processor! This was insane and cruel all at once— terrorists. It _had_ to be. Such a thing was unheard of in Neotopia but not beyond understanding. Even decades later, the resentment of some people towards robots for gaining equal citizenship under the law still ached...  this year was supposed to mark the highest number of graduating mecha students. _Was_ this a political stunt? The usually reserved Consolo resumed her run moments later but did not stop to check on the girl. Instead, she grabbed the fallen horn, lunged for Sammy, and slammed the device on the top of his head. While Sammy froze and locked into place, Consolo turned around and sprinted for the next device. She seized it and lunged for a group of students with two more GMs in the mix.

Sammy stood up, swayed, and went after the next robot he saw. Screams rose up like a chorus. A fire alarm was pulled. Pandemonium seized the campus. A police siren wailed in the distance. Glass smashed.

A yellow and brown robot flew low past her window. Not particularly fast, so she was able to see even when blinded with shock. The single pink optic was a dead giveaway to what had happened.

Oh no. Not terrorists. _Worse_.

No more attacking construction sites and trying to steal supply trains. The Dark Axis had made their move for real this time. No more convincing the public that a giant robot attacking that mysterious floating base was part of some goddamn _movie_.

Viola swore and dropped the files. Hours of organization was lost. Pamphlets about Wipe sessions for proud General Mecha owners wanting to reset their property fluttered to the floor. A hideous mosaic of Neotopia’s ugliest past, mocking her. She sprinted for the door and rushed down the hall. Her heels clicked with the rough reality of the time she had wasted.

Her cell phone rang.

 _“Viola, mi vida!”_ Sophia’s voice trembled. _“The other robots—!”_

“Stay inside and _hide!”_ Viola’s voice shook as she rammed her way through the side exit of Sanchez Hall. The lower half of campus she hadn’t been able to see from her window was in no better state. Robots who were tagged by the control horns she had only heard of until now were running amuck, and droves more were trying to run from them. She watched several students trying to barricade themselves inside Burpee Hall while Dark Axis controlled GMs made to smash their way inside. “Are you still at the library?”

_“No, I was waiting for you by the offices—!”_

One of the flying Axians touched down on top of a car not ten feet to her right. Viola screamed and lost her footing. One of her heels snapped. The robot’s optic swung around to look at her but otherwise it didn’t attack. It stepped off the car, picked up a rogue control horn, and reloaded it into some kind of launch device before taking to the air again. Humans were not their targets tonight. Viola scrambled to take off her shoes before pushing off her hands and knees at a sprint. If she could reach Sophia before any of the possessed GMs could, they could sneak to her car and drive as far as they could to—

The campus was gripped with disaster. Robots everywhere. One of the mobile citizen students was trying to wrestle two possessed others off of him, sobbing for help. A tagged Ball janitor was on its side rolling aggressively in circles. A GM who had been tagged on her back, not her head, was smashing her face into the nearest column outside Tesla Hall. Apparently, the Control Horns could not get a “good” hold on the robots they were attached to unless they were as close to the processor as possible... Two of the flying Axians touched down to retrieve unattended control horns to reload them into the canon apparatuses they were carrying. As Viola watched them take off, a window burst open on the second story of an unbarricaded academic building.  Two GMs fell out, the one with a control horn having his hands wrapped around the other’s neck.

In the sky, the Air Tour Dinette blimp’s LED screen had changed.

**ONLY THE DARK AXIS SURVIVES FOREVER ONLY THE DARK AXIS SURVIVES FOREVER ONLY THE DARK AXIS SURVIVES FOREVER ONLY THE DARK AXIS SURVIVES FOREVER**

_“Mi amor!_ Mi amor, here!”

Viola felt her gut clench. Bile tinged her palette. Her heart worked its way into her throat and the world stood still. Across the way, past panicked and rampant bodies, was Sophia. Hiding in the bushes by the employee parking lot. She didn’t have the car keys. They were in Viola’s pocket. It wasn’t like it would have helped anyways.

Even as Viola lunged into a mad run for her wife, a campus security GM vaulted over a hedge with a control horn fastened tight to his helmet. A second was gripped in his servo. Viola barely made it past the dying student on the pavement, that blood soaked sweater still draped over her head, when the officer slammed that control horn down on top of Sophia’s head.

[Viola Perez, a cyberneurologist](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8211527/chapters/18820018), shot awake screaming. The nurse who was standing over her screamed and slipped backwards on the floor of Blanc Base’s hospital wing.

**ii**

She had been in a coma for eight weeks.

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Catherine Hodges said. “We didn’t think you were going to wake up.”

Zako Red smashed her face into the steering column of her GP Base Unicorn so hard, her skull was fractured in six places. Reconstruction surgery on her jaw and nose took place while she was unconscious to save her the most grief. Her wife made sure she was in good hands. Her face being pulverized wasn’t the worst of it, though. Four broken ribs, a snapped femur, dislocated arm, misaligned vertebrae in her spine that nearly sliced her spinal column in half... the brain bleeding had been the worst of it. She had to be resessasated twice when they finally found and airlifted her. She had been trapped in that car for two hours. Dying and alone.

Now she was sitting awake in her hospital room. Catherine sat across from her while they spoke. The other woman was usually part of the mecha-oriented medical department... but her training as a human-nurse benefited her in this situation. Viola was thankful for her, even when she scolded her for trying to scratch her scars. Her hair was still growing back. She was given a pill for that with a glass of warm sugar water.

“The gun.” It was hard to talk. Her words were slurred. One of the medications she was given had kept her brain from completely deteriorating, at least. Learning how to walk and talk again wouldn’t be as difficult as the conversation she needed to have. “The red robot…”

“We know about the gun,” Chief Haro said. He stood behind Catherine. Even with that blank face, Viola still felt that judging stare. “Zako Red has been taken care of. All of this is a discussion for another day.”

“No,” Viola pleaded. “Now. _Please.”_

They told her. Zako Red, now known to be a remote-controlled proxy, stole the EM rifle and waited for Sazabi to leave the Ray household. He then went inside and took Keiko Ray and Nanako Ray hostage. He tried to burn the house down to herald Sazabi’s arrival sooner, and distract him using Keiko as bait while he made the shot. He held onto Nanako as _insurance_. The first blow was glancing. The second missed altogether. Sazabi gave chase to retrieve Nana, and once she was safely in the Commander’s custody he traded her off to Guneagle. Zako Red’s — _Professor Gerbera’s_ — backup forces engaged in a dogfight with the Commander over Neotopia. Backup forces couldn’t be scrambled in time.

“Sazabi sacrificed himself to destroy Zako Red,” Catherine said.

With no one to command them, the unattended Doga Bombers dropped themselves on the city below. Motive didn’t matter. Seventy-four people, humans and mobile citizens alike, would never get to see another sunset.

“It would have been more,” Chief Haro said gravely. “Had Gerbera been allowed to order the Doga Bombers on the city... the Commander still saved what he could. Many more people would have died without him.”

It was hard to imagine. The Commander, capable of trying to save the city when he himself once tried to destroy it? Had he jailbroken himself to the point of forgetting what he was supposed to be? Viola wondered what her scanning software back home recorded in the moments before he slammed into that quaint little hill.

Hurried footfalls echoed in the doorway. There was a gasp. Even without a mouth, Sophia had her hands pressed over her face. She shook. Viola cried, too.

**iii**

Commander Sazabi looked _better_ , everyone kept saying. He wasn’t charred brown and flaking silver anymore. He wasn’t splayed across every surface of the room in gutted pieces. He wasn’t hooked up to four external engines and every piece of life support under Blanc Base’s arsenal. The Commander looked so much better. Sazabi was making a real recovery. There was hope.

She couldn’t see it. Not a goddamn shred.

Where she once thought Sazabi was impossibly big, he was so much _smaller_ now. She once made the mistake of misjudging his size before, back when she first went to the Ray household to confront Keiko about the Axian’s... mental growth. Video recordings and photographs did only so much to compliment his sheer scale, and not very well. Not at all compared to what he was like in person. Seeing him dodge into the house was like watching an aspiration out of her worst nightmare transcend human living space, and he was _massive_. Even without his ornamental armor, eight feet was still eight feet.

Seeing him for this second time was as daunting as the first, but not for the same reason. He looked awful. Super _fucking_ awful, actually. Viola wasn’t the only one who had a rough recovery. The Commander looked so much smaller, stripped to nothing.

“But he really _is_ smaller, yes,” Kao Lyn said. “I remeasured the stabilizer fin. The extra length was superfluous. He’s lost two inches total.”

“Two inches,” Viola repeated. She was in a wheelchair, gripping her armrest. The other hand was touching the glass window. _“Only_ two?”

Kao Shi Lyn laughed, which was a good sign. He was in good spirits despite the obstacles they were dealing with. Restoring the Commander to a pristine state was next to impossible, and Viola was the only one other than Kao Lyn who could fully understand why. He had worked so hard to get to this point... and for what? Yes, the Commander’s body was being reassembled. The line was so efficient that it hurt to watch. Assorted mechanics were reloading the Commander’s innards back inside of him after a last overhaul of his body, just to make sure they had assembled it right the first time. Better to fix the mistakes now than wait for the Commander to wake up and realize something was still wrong. Things could be missed. A misaligned leg strut, faulty wiring, a bad transformer... The whole process involved re-gutting the huge Axian after Kao Lyn had spent two months putting him back together. The labelled parts were then reloaded into the shell piece by piece to check for damage received during earlier stages of assembly.

Except Sazabi was never going to wake up.

“Recreating what we could was a feat in and of itself.” Kao Lyn looked at her. “Unfortunately, there are still lot of things I _can’t_ give back. Professor Gerbera designed him with a specific kind of neural interface that I found difficult to replicate. He might have residual numbness in limbs if he overworks himself. Pain, even. Repairs can be made further down the road, but we still know so little about Axian technology that it will be a long time coming.”

“Robot chronic pain. Interesting.” She watched as a nurse plucked up part of a huge battery reserve, loading it into a port on his chassis. It wasn’t part of his essential systems. She watched as she covered it with a silver mirrored prism, and covered that up with an armor plated double door. “You gave him back his weapons array. Including the cannons.”

“Yes.” Kao Lyn sighed. “When we began assembling him, we realized that the weapons interface was _also_ part of his neural network. It’s as much a part of his body as the endocrine system is to a human, Viola. Separated from it any longer, there would have been detrimental consequences to his health.”

“Giving it back to him could prove detrimental consequences to _our_ health.”

The comment was unnecessary, but Kao Lyn chose not to fight her. “It doesn’t matter. The closer we get to completely restoring his body, the more I realize it may have all been moot. I can restore his processor from scratch. The surviving motherboard is absolutely part of his psycommu system which allows him to control his funnel and… other assets, occasionally. But without knowing if his base AI survived, and without a memory cortex to interact with it…”

Yes. The reason Commander Sazabi would never wake up. Viola watched as the mechanics gathered around the monster’s mechanical heart. Not the glass one burning in his chest: the other one. The monstrous engine took six people and two GMs to lift safely into its red cradle. The terrible horses sleeping within made no fuss, trapped in their stable. The Machine slept, never to awaken without its Ghost.

“It’s just a new robot with a recycled body.” Viola said. “The lights are on, but nobody’s home. They’ll never _come_ home, unless you plug in a new AI. It won’t be Commander Sazabi.”

“You mapped Sazabi’s processor as part of his Robo House therapy.” At the name Robo House, Kao Lyn physically tensed. “Do you have any idea…?”

“I spent most of my time watching the Commander’s processes and memory allocation, but not where they went. As you said, the original surviving motherboard is from his psycommu system. Just a control device. Whatever Sazabi was _storing_ himself on, it’s long gone.” She hesitated. “He was jailbreaking himself.”

“What?”

She explained to Kao Lyn what she meant. After spending so long monitoring Captain Gundam, Chief Haro asked her to monitor the Commander Sazabi. Partially because he had a Soul Drive, partially because it could be used to their advantage. Knowing how their enemy’s brain worked would give them an advantage in the war against the Dark Axis... and knowing how Sazabi’s brain worked, specifically, also gave them an advantage on the home front. Seeing how his processor reacted when his security bolts went off was pivotal to understanding how to better control him. That, and they now had something they never thought they would have in their possession: a second Soul Drive.

Half of the data she watched on her computer was noise, but she was trained to look for what was important. Along with the GPS tracker and security bolt sensors, Perez’s monitoring software had been loaded into the Commander as an implant. It allowed her to record and track his brain activity. She was able to learn what patterns depicted violent behavior. Between receiving updates about when his security bolt would turn on, she logged their frequency and intensity. The storage was allotted to each event as she began mapping what portions of his AI were dedicated to what tasks, what routed through the Soul Drive and what didn’t. The strength of the signals as well. His motor control. Voice box. Optical focus.

And his ability to alter his own damn programming.

“One of his subcomputers specifically for targeting weapons,” Perez said. “The night before I stole the EM rifle, I was watching his processes live in my home study. I saw something. A ripple in the memory map. I couldn’t find the origin right away, but it touched target-tracking blocks and... they were modified. He didn’t have weapons to aim, but he was doing _something.”_

“Dual-encoding? How? Not even Captain Gundam...” Kao Lyn paused. “Why?”

“I don’t know how, but...” Perez looked down at the smaller man. “He was using his targeting computer for facial recognition. He taught himself how to do that and seeded it into his own processor as a subroutine not dedicated to combat. He was expanding his storage space at the same time. Learning. Growing. Adapting.”

There was a clink on the one-way window. Perez looked up and almost passed out. The funnel poised directly at her face, bumping repeatedly into the wall at eye-level. From lazy to frantic, it repeated the motion until a nurse finally snatched it out of the air and tucked it under his arm like a football. A murder football. Murderball. Perez didn’t think it was funny but the urge to laugh rose up inside her either way. Maybe it was the medication. She was so tired, _always_ tired...

“There’s so much about the Axians we still don’t know,” Kao Lyn said. “When you return home, please send me that data once you feel well enough.”

“You don’t wait it right away?”

“I’m… keeping the worse case scenario at bay.” Kao Lyn admitted. “Even if your data propels Axian research into the next century, we still don’t have all the pieces necessary to bring him back. The longer we keep it at bay, well... I owe Keiko Ray that much.”

The two remained in silence for awhile longer, watching the lights in that empty house burn. And the once black Soul Drive did just that. It burned and burned and burned.

**iv**

Three days later, she was out of the wheelchair and on crutches. The muscle stimulants had done their job and she was mobile. Her recovery that otherwise would have taken _months_ was in full swing in only a few days, which she was thankful for. Sophia was constantly doting on her since she woke up, and Viola didn’t want her wife to worry more than necessary. Human medicine had come a long way on Neotopia. On Earth, this kind of accident would have left her crippled for life... Unfortunately, as fast as her recovery was, her brain was still slow on any kind of uptake. Mental efforts were exhausting. She felt dizzy and had headaches. It would pass, they said.

As quickly as she was healing, physical therapy was still mandatory. Learning to walk again was no issue, but learning how to do it _correctly_ was important. On her way to the physical therapy lounge, they had to pass through the lowermost garden bridge of Blanc Base. Beautifully redone since the Big Zam tossed the base around many months earlier. It felt like a lifetime ago. Viola was thankful that she could see this kind of scenery again, rather than the inside of a hospital room. The garden wasn’t necessarily large but it was full, packed with flowers and large leafy palms.

They were halfway across the yard and passing the koi point when a Doga Bomber walked around the blind corner from the robotics department. Viola almost collided with it, brain too muddied to stop in time. Sophia, walking alongside her, yanked back on her arm to stop the accident from happening. The rogue Axian swung its optic around to look at them and sidestepped.

“Oops, sorry,” it said politely.

Sophia, sweet lovely Sophia, lunged and clocked it in the face as hard as possible.

Kao Lyn and a dark haired woman were on scene three minutes later. Sophia was still hurling obscenities in Spanish at the Doga Bomber as they arrived. The Axian had flown up to hide on the hook-brace in the ceiling where the suspension cable held the base aloft. Twenty staff members were on site to try and calm everyone down, while the rest watched and otherwise tried to resume their duties. The verbal abuse made it difficult.

“Oh good,” Kao Lyn said, deadpan. “I see you and your wife met Tango.”

The SDG had taken several Axians into its custody post-invasion. First and foremost were the three recovered and sent to Robo House therapy. Zapper Zaku, the unfortunately miscolored (and colorblind) Doga Commando, and Commander Sazabi. Less directly acquired were the Zako soldiers found hiding in the tunnel level of Neotopia Tower, used to help the Horn of War cleanup... then _lost_ by a clueless group of GMs when going to transport them to Robo House. How did you misplace— what? Seventy? Little green men? Who couldn’t stop themselves from shouting _zako_ and giving themselves away? Grappler Gouf and Destroyer Dom also escaped custody after a brief holding period.

As far as Viola knew, only Doga Yellow and the disgraced Sazabi were left on Neotopia. Zapper Zaku was with the Gundam Musai crew, and the Zakos, Grappler Gouf, and Destroyer Dom had gone after him. Sophia was trying to help her to avoid the major news stations while she recovered, so she had no idea about the newest Doga Bomber. TA-N90 was the only surviving Axian from the cabal that went after Sazabi the day after her car crash. His processor was the one they were using in reference to rebuild Sazabi’s.

The black haired woman swore and jogged alongside Sophia. She had an eyepatch and looked about ready to rip Sophia’s arm out of its socket. “Stop yelling at him!”

The GM finally stopped her tirade, but only to redirect. The language teacher whirled around and pointed an accusing finger at Renee Clarke, the doga’s warden. “You! You cannot be _serious_ , defending this monstruo!”

Tango shuffled like a pigeon on his perch, nearly losing his footing on the curved surface of the hook. His boosters fired off to help him keep balance. That optic flashed bright and the yellow-brown mech trembled.

“Oh yeah, some monster,” Renee hissed. “You’re scaring the shit out of him! All he wanted to do was look at the fish!”

Tango shouted something. The sheer size of the room swallowed his words.

“What?”

Tango tried shouting again. Once more, it was too quiet.

“We can’t hear you! Sad human ears, remember?” Renee groaned. “Oooh my god. Oh my god. Someone get me an egg or a girl scout mint or a stepladder.”

One of the SDG staff immediately jogged off.

“I _said_ I was sorry!” Tango finally decided that the presence of his warden was enough to warrant a safe descent. He fired off his rockets and lifted off the hook. Viola stared as he maneuvered himself to touch down beside Renee, but still behind the relative safety of one of the human SDG agents. He was identical to all the other Doga Bombers, like the ones who attacked Laplace Von Braun’s campus. They seemed _bigger_ then. Renee was two heads taller than Tango. “I startled them. I… deserved that. Getting hit.”

“No one deserves to get punched for going on a walk, Eggshells.” Renee reached up, brazenly palming along the mech’s oversized shark head. Viola swore she saw the mech lean into it. Then Renee was swearing again. “Tee, there’s a dent!”

“Oh.” The mech unlatched a hidden jawplate, _unhinged_ the mechanism like a goddamn snake, and stuck his whole servo inside and _up_. The shallow rivet that Sophia had given him below his optic display was pushed on from the inside. It popped out easily. “Fixed it.”

Viola’s aching brain was catching up to her. Then the SDG staff member that left came back with a cardboard box of girl scout mint wafers. Tango snapped his head in the man’s direction and stared expectantly, tilted like a dog that Viola used to have. Or was it more insect-like? Reptile? She couldn't make up her mind. In the amount of time that passed the box was surrendered. Tango was peeling it open. The mighty Dark Axis, gone from conquering dimensions for resources to raiding kitchens for _cookies_.

Sophia was having none of it. She gestured wildly, passioned to borderline hysteria. Viola had never seen her so upset. Not even during the first invasion. “Absurdo! You cannot tell me that you are alright with this. They hurt us so horrible, senorita! We took them in once already and look what _happened!_ We made this mistake already!”

Sophia was never loud. She was soft spoken and gentle, sometimes to a fault. What had she gone through for the seven weeks that Viola was in a coma? Sophia always warned her not to sit in the dark with her demons after the invasion happened. Sophia was always there to hold her when Viola broke down into tears remembering the control horns. But who had been there for _Sophia?_ Seeing this lone Axian wandering free when she had been a prisoner in her own mind and home had tipped something loose. The anger and sadness welled up all at once. Even past the headache, Viola finally understood. As Sophia turned to look at her, Viola saw everything that had gone wrong while she was asleep.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. In another lifetime, seeing the Axians would have infuriated her all the same. Now? She saw Tango and didn’t immediately hate him, and the hatred she had for Sazabi was… somewhere. Not here in the present, not anymore. Burned to nothing upon reentry into the atmosphere when she came back from darkness. “It’s okay, mi amor.”

Sophia collapsed to her knees and cried into her wife’s pants leg. Tango bowed his head with them and said nothing. He understood, too.

**v**

Sophia was a second-generation Wiped General Purpose Mecha, almost a hundred years old based on the parts she had. Whatever her original name and job were, they were lost to time. She had no records, as GPM owners were not required to keep detailed history reports of their _property_. That ugly little word was part of the reason why the P was dropped out of GPM. Supporters of robot ownership used Property and Purpose interchangeably to make their opponents angry. It was still a raw and ugly memory for so many of the now identified GMs across Neotopia.

Sophia never let it get her down. Like so many GMs who managed to survive their Wipes with minimal damage, she went on to make the most of the new life she was given. She went to get her teaching degree and took up dead languages as a hobby. Spanish and Latin from the Old World were her favorites. She and Viola met on the train rides home to their respective apartments in the city. Viola was still in college back then.

Two years of dating later, they were married.

The rest of the Perez family did not attend the ceremony. Like the raw wounds felt by the liberated robots, the people in Neotopia who lost their handy robot workers were also sour. Viola hadn’t spoken to her father in years. His grandfather lost an entire business when robots stopped wanting to build his high rise condos. Not owning your workers meant you couldn’t _force them_ to do something for you, and too few humans were willing to replace them. Word travelled fast in the robot community who was good to work for and who was anti-free mecha. The only family member who still acknowledged her marriage (and existence) was her abuelita. Her paternal grandmother, Angelita Dolores Perez.

She arrived in the early afternoon with a basket full of goodies. “Mi dulce niña, I am so sorry for being late. You look so much better.”

Angelita was eighty-three. Despite that, she was still rocking heels and made the effort to go to the Congenia Galleria strip mall every Tuesday and Thursday. Even after Viola was in the hospital, to keep her spirits up. She had decorated the house with flowers and candles in her name to encourage a speedy wakeup. Which Angelita took full credit for.

“Of course,” Viola said, kissing her grandmother on the cheek. She had finally stopped feeling nauseous and was able to eat some solid foods. Fartons and a slice of one of her homemade pies. The outside crust was slightly charred, same as always. Home sweet home. She inhaled everything. The basket also had a few books, some framed pictures, a stuffed animal she hadn’t slept with since she was seven...

“You are coming soon?” Angelita was almost vibrating in excitement, coiled to a joyful spring.

“If I get the clear, yes.” Viola picked up the stray crumbs that fell onto the bed, eating those too. It felt wrong to sweep them away after being without solid food for so long. “I missed a lot.”

“We don’t want to overwhelm her,” Sophia said, shooting Angelita a _look_. They had talked about this subject at length, clearly. “A few steps at a time, por favor.”

“If she could fend off all those rambunctious _chicos_ in grade school, she can handle anything.” Angelita paused, mulling something over. Her smile lines pulled as she made a face. “Hmmm... then again, those news outlets have been going at each other for weeks now. All the noise about people not being _upset_ enough. Everyone grieves at a different pace. Some people want to move on.”

_“Angelita!”_

“I know people died,” Viola said. “I was already told.”

“Some people mourn for all the wrong reasons, unfortunately.” Angelita leaned back in her chair, getting comfortable. Her expression had changed from happy to resentful. Reading her face always came with little effort, but there was no telling what would ever come out of her mouth. Like right that second. “Your cousin Roberto was killed when the Doga Bombers came down.”

Sophia looked ready to escort her out of the room as politely as possible. Viola reached out and grabbed her arm to stop her. “I have a cousin named Roberto?”

“Had,” Angelita said. Then she explained. Roberto Perez was her immediate cousin, also on her father’s side. He was ten years older than Viola. The family never talked about him for the same reason they no longer talked about her: he had “run off” with a robot lover. Angelita wasn’t able to offer details or even the spouse’s name. It was a different time. She wasn’t as accepting of a person as she was now.

 _“Angelita?”_ Sophia squeezed her wife’s hand. Viola squeezed back.

“I was a different person then,” Angelita offered. She looked guilty. Her entire posture had changed, slumped in the seat across from them. “When my husband lost his business, it was a scary time. Everything was changing. We forced Roberto out and never heard from him again. But when Viola came out about you Sophia, I couldn’t stand by and let her go. She was my little girl. She still _is_. My only granddaughter who I love and cherish. The rest of the family will catch up one day, but not today.”

“How is the family?”

“Mourning. For Roberto.”

Angelita continued. Roberto Emmanuel Perez was killed while walking with his spouse, a GM they only knew as “Chris” (Christopher? Christine?), when a Doga Bomber came down on top of them. Both were killed instantly. Security footage disclosed to the next-of-kin for both families showed them trying to take refuge from falling glass at impact. Chris’ remains were recycled per their request, and Roberto’s body went to his family. No longer Chris, since Chris was gone. Viola’s uncle Dominic Perez had him buried in the family plot. Chris was not mentioned anywhere on the headstone, either.

“They cried for weeks, Viola. _Weeks_. Your aunt still gets teary eyed. Reminiscing about all the summers at the lake house and how well he did as a football star in college. It made me sick to my stomach, novio. We pretended he was dead to us and only mourned him when the rest of the city was up in arms about these alien robots. If he had died in a car accident—”

Angelita stopped and froze, her expression like a terrified deer caught in headlights. Not like Zako Red, who hadn’t been a scared deer at all. Frightened deer did not step into the road to redirect your white sedan one hundred feet down a hill. Viola could hear the glass breaking, branches snapping as the car rolled thirty-two times before coming to a stop between the trees strong enough to keep her from going further. Any further and the motorist who found the smashed guardrail two hours later wouldn’t have seen her. Would have assumed that the accident that took place was already cleared, and police simply hadn’t put up tape yet. Would have driven off and left her to die. Then, _only_ then, would her distant family have mourned her.

“I’m so sorry, Viola.” Angelita reached out to her, to take back what she said, but Viola shook her head and smiled.

“That’s okay,” she said, then buried her face in her hands and cried.

Sophia had her ugly memories. So did Angelita. Now Viola had scars to match.

**vi**

Her release was delayed by one day, when Captain Gundam was sent to Ark through the modified Site D dimensional gate. Blanc Base was in an uproar. Gunperry services, Sazabi’s restoration— _everything_ was on hold. Not only did they pinpoint the exact location of the surviving _Gundam Musai_ crew, but they were also able to reconnect with the Zakorello Phone. The Zakorello Gate was usable again. Captain Gundam was scrambled in his new hyper mode frame to rescue the stranded Gundam Force allies, and the cheering could be heard all the way from the hospital wing when he sent his first transmission from Ark. Mission success. Viola would have cheered too, if she still wasn’t so sore.

When the dust settled the next morning, she and Sophia took the first gunperry back to the colony. It was fifteen minutes before they could take off, though. Approval from the city was pending. Air traffic control was... tight. Gathermoon was not taking any more risks. _Everyone_ had their eyes on the sky.

“I don’t blame them,” the pilot said.

They arrived at a structure all too familiar to Viola: Noir Base, otherwise known as Site B. The storage facility was once disguised an inconspicuous black building to the public. Now it proudly bore the SDG sigil. She tried to ignore it. There wasn’t a pleasant memory associated with that place right now... once they were off the helipad, Angelita was waiting for them in the new car Sophia had gotten for her. A bright red Anaheim Stein. Viola was going to miss the white Unicorn, but the gesture was wholesomely appreciated all the same. She wasn’t even bothered that it was red, either.

Angelita drove with help from the non-sapient AI. Sophia and Viola took up the back seat. The beige faux leather interior was warmed from being parked in the sun. Viola melted into it and slept for the first twenty minutes of the drive. It was the most solid sleep she had gotten in more than a week.

It wasn’t until Angelita turned onto the freeway leaving the city that Viola stirred again. As the car took the wide exit, she noticed the light construction they passed. Less than four workers were present, but it was obvious that they were wrapping up what had once been a large project. The road was still dark black where they poured fresh asphalt to cover the...

“They are fixing the last of the craters,” Sophia said. When Viola looked at her, she elaborated. “From the doga bombers…”

The word _crater_ had her feeling dizzy. Not like the way she was after waking up from her coma. This was new. “Where did Sazabi crash?”

It was another forty-five minutes out of the way from getting home. Sophia tried to talk her out of it. You are still recovering, mi vida. The sooner we get home, the sooner you can lie down and get some more rest. Viola refused. She had been resting in a coma for weeks and _needed_ this. Angelita was none the wiser to her motive, more than happy to continue playing with the new Stein. The elderly woman had already preprogrammed all her favorite radio play channels. Viola was at least happy to see she was enjoying herself.

Sophia was quiet when they arrived as close to the hillside as they could, pulling onto the hard shoulder. Viola was half out of the car before it even came to a complete stop.

 _“Mi vida!”_ Sophia went to follow her out, then thought better of it and got out on her side instead. There was no reason to trip up her wife so soon out of the hospital. She hurried to circle around the back of the car. “Viola! Please, you will hurt yourself!”

Neotopia was not a naturally flourished planet. Their world had been terraformed by weather modules and the sheer willpower of the early _Neos One_ scientists fresh out of cryogenic sleep. The planet already had hints of an atmospheric layer, so part of the work was already done for them. Once they hastened its development, rain fell. Probes launched from the station delivered the first germinated plants into synthetically improved soils. What had this hillside looked like three hundred years ago? A desert with rolling sand dunes? A soiled wasteland? On one hand it didn’t matter. On the other, it meant absolutely everything: because humans were able to take the ugly and turn it into beautiful. It was their redemption, after they took Earth and made it ugly.

Viola hiked to the top of the hill until she felt like her lungs were on fire. The ground was still wet with dew. It soaked through her sneakers, her socks, made her skin damp in the cool morning air. Reminding her she was still alive.

The crater left behind by Sazabi was healing. The aerial photographs she had seen of it from news clips and the SDG record files did not compare to its present-state. The black scorched earth was bleached grey from weeks of exposing sunlight. Fresh rains had rejuvenated the soil and strands of grass bleed through. Untamed wildflowers were encroaching from the rim towards the center of the crater, tall and strong. It was only a matter of time before the virgin grasses were overwhelmed by an ocean of rainbow petals. Why were the poppies only blooming _here?_ Maybe the seeds were there the whole time, and the fire from the Commander’s impact had given the infertile ground a chance to start fresh.

“Viola?”

Walking without her crutches had taken more out of her than she thought. She leaned on the dead tree next to her as her wife arrived at her side. Even _that_ was beginning to teem with life again, too. The tree would never bloom, never be fixed, but a trail of ants was marching along the side. Had they made a nest inside the charred wood? A small canary that she hadn’t seen took off with a twitter. Moss was growing from the trunk up. The tree would never be a tree again, but its nutrients would be broken down and recycled into the world. Nothing was really _gone_. Only recycled. Life moved on and waited for no one.

Sophia held her shoulders. Then her hands moved down and she held her wife around her waist. Loving. Gentle. Full of life. Someday she would be gone. Viola, too. But it wouldn’t change what they had done to get here and put their footprint on the world, even if it was overgrown with flowers.

The sun continued to rise over the horizon, feeding the hungry plants the energy they needed to grow.

“Let’s go home,” Viola said, and let her wife lead her back down the hill.

**vii**

Viola felt no desire to go back to her study once she was finally home. Not right now, not so soon after walking through the door and realizing that she hadn’t been in her own house since September. The date on her PDA calendar was December first. The first thing she did was collapse on the leather sofa and take in the sights and smells. Her eyes watered. She hadn’t cried about the house since she bought it with her wife as the first purchase of their marriage...

Even with the weird power fluxuations, the desire to check on the Commander’s monitoring equipment was nonexistent. Being in the moment where she could just stop and _exist_ was more important than any ounce of whatever the Commander’s recorded data could offer. No more sitting in the dark with demons, not even when the lights _did_ go out.

(And they did, constantly. At least four or five times a day when it was “infrequent.” Perez knew the outages had something to do with her computer equipment, what else _could_ it have been? Within ten minutes of first being home, Sophia went to turn on a light and the resulting power surge plunged them into darkness. Angelita was a pro at checking the circuit breakers now, god bless her. The eighty year old woman delighted in being good at something other than decorating and hitting the mall with her DIY club girls.)

The majority of Viola’s days going forward were spent recovering in hers and her wife’s bedroom, with the blinds thrown open and the television on. The only times she moved were to use the bathroom and go on short walks around the property. It was always with Sophia, but sometimes Angelita joined them just to be close. Almost losing Viola had affected her grandmother as much as her wife... The muscle stimulants and trips to the physical therapist helped her build strength, but some days were more tiring than others. Often times, the exhaustion was mental.

Nothing made her mental strength fade faster than the nonsense she was catching up on.

(Having a television in their bedroom was a mistake. Having all two months worth of second invasion news coverage on a flash drive was also a mistake. Colony Channel Reporting was the greatest mistake of all, dear God.)

The prerecorded clips of the second invasion news reports were the worst Viola had ever seen. The coverage after the first invasion was necessary, yes, but something about the way the new reports were being framed left a bad taste in her mouth. Maybe it was the time frame. By the time the first invasion’s news coverage started to slow, less than a month had passed. Now it was bleeding into the third month since the much smaller invasion. Could it _really_ be called an invasion, though? It was more of an attack that lasted less than twenty minutes, yet coverage was still going strong.

So many people in Neotopia were desperate to have an enemy, even after the enemy was gone. That upset her.

Viola had barely caught up on the prerecorded clips when she jumped into the live channels. Neotopia News Network was running a story on two hikers lost in the woods likely outside colony limits. The SDG’s newly augmented Gunchoppers were on the rescue team sent to find them. The smaller networks were locked into traffic reports. Colony Channel Reporting was bludgeoning the Dark Axis angle like a dead robot horse, no offense to the samurai Gundam’s steed. It wasn’t that the event was no longer relevant: it would always be. It was life changing for their colony, same as the first invasion. What made it difficult to watch was the sheer _effort_ put into making it as dire as the day it had happened.

“The majority of the protests seem to have stopped. No one is talking about the Dark Axis anymore. I see less and less people picketing the mayor’s office in the government sector.” the anchorwoman for CCR said. Leah Durand, a sweet looking girl with a bad temper and anti-robot freedoms streak. Perez never watched Colony Channel Reporting, but she was so starved for information that she was willing to settle. Durand had a look in her eyes that was unsettling, boring past the camera lens. “The ignorance that is coming out of this is unbelievable to me. I find it very concerning.”

The woman she was interviewing via satellite shook her head. The label in the bottom of the screen read _Octavia Aaronson_. The surtitle below that read _attorney at law & ethics professor_. The woman adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat. “Actually, I’m not surprised at all. It’s not ignorance. People are moving on.”

Durand looked personally offended by the notion. “How do you figure? How can that be? Our peaceful community was shattered—”

Aaronson held up her hand, cutting her off. “Humans are an adaptive species. It’s no surprise. After Earth was destroyed, we fled to the stars rather than surrender and die. This isn’t so different.”

She made a wide gesture with her hands, palms up, referencing the room — _the world_ — around her.

“In the weeks following the first invasion, the main protests were centered around finding where Commander Sazabi was,” she said. “He was released from Robo House and _put_ somewhere other than in a cage, where everyone wanted him. It wasn’t until a civilian integrated into the SDG as part of their post-invasion outreach program leaked the location as the Ray residence. A protest gathered outside the house with more than one hundred people. Within the hour, Keiko Ray was demanding the crowd disperse—”

“You make it sound like they didn’t have a right to be there,” Durand said. “The protestors. They _have_ a right to do that, you know.”

“Yes, legally that’s true, but etiquette would say that it’s rude to do it on someone’s front lawn.”

“There was a murderer in there!”

“Will I be allowed to finish my original thought, please?”

Durand bit her tongue, looking angry. Aaronson resumed her monologue. “Look— this might upset you, and I’m sorry. Humans have the ability to adapt and grieve at their own pace. We adapt to loss, then move on when the time is right. We don’t forget about the people we lost or the pain that was dealt to us, but many of us choose to deal with it in a healthy way. That’s why Keiko was able to make those people leave her house so easily. Relieving the old wounds won’t heal them. That’s why the first invasion protests stopped, and why the new protests are stopping as well. Screaming at the SDG should have done more when they did all they could already— those gunperries _were_ trying to catch the dogas. Sazabi _stopped_ a much more serious threat from overtaking the city. Our loved ones are buried. We’re healing and moving towards the future. No one wants to suffer forever.”

“You sound so forgiving,” the Durand said, venomous, not bothering hiding her discontent. Angelita was right, some people _couldn’t_ move on.

“We know so little about the Dark Axis, but I can tell you this: the larger problem we face is that of the unknown. We also know that Commander Sazabi was only _part_ of that problem. The Dark Axis has other members. We know now about Professor Gerbera and the existence of a possible supreme leader. We know from the Doga Bomber that was recovered that they’re— the _implication_ is that they’re a slave army. Sazabi was a very brainwashed piece of that, and _only_ a piece.”

“A slave army.” It wasn’t a question. Durand had gone from outright angry to incredulous. “Are you saying that we should feel _bad_ for them?”

“I’m saying that we should keep an open mind, and that anything is possible. Commander Sazabi lived free among us for a time. When Professor Gerbera arrived with his troops, when presented with every alternative, Commander Sazabi chose to slam himself into the ground rather than run away. He chose to be spit in the face of the Dark Axis when the people of Neotopia gave him no reason to do so. If he had real free will in the Dark Axis, he would have chosen to stay and not turn on his true Master, whoever that may be.”

Durand was about to reply when the interview cut short. The television screen went dark, as did the alarm clock and the bedside table lamp. Sophia swore across the house. Angelita was chipper and quick to offer her services throwing the breakers again. Maybe it was for the best: CCR would find a way to turn Aaronson’s words against her for their fear mongering viewer base. There was no saving the important dialogue she was trying to share.

Viola sat with demons once more, while bright sunlight poured through the blinds. Healing what otherwise would have been a darkened room.

**viii**

Sophia had been reluctant to leave her at home. It was her first day back on the job as a language teacher. “Mi vida, I can stay.”

“I’ll be fine,” Viola said. “I’ll behave.”

“Stay in bed and rest, amor. I’ll bring home dinner and wine.”

As soon as Sophia was gone, and once Angelita’s DIY club came to pick her up for a craft convention, Viola did the opposite of _behave_ and got in the red Stein. The address programmed into her phone synchronized with the onboard GPS, presenting the route on the touchscreen. Two hours. It didn’t matter. The address that Chief Haro texted her from his office line must have been important, so she was willing to extend the effort.

Steering was difficult, but she was determined to try and do something _normal_. A drive shouldn’t have been hard. No autopilot for her.

Two and a half hours later, she pulled into a wooded driveway with fresh stone pavers and a quaint wooden cottage. New wood stain glistened on the porch. Several loose shingles and a toolkit were still on the roof. Miku Anami waved her in as soon as she was out of the car. The prosthetic legs she balanced on were bare up to the thighs. She was wearing paint stained shorts and a dust covered t-shirt.

“Dr. Perez? Hello! Come on in! Chief Haro said you might be coming.” The girl was vibrating in excitement. “I have tea and rice balls!”

The house was huge and very settler-era. Miku was quick to give her an update on the home’s history with excited vigor. No wonder she had been excited: it was a restoration project commissioned by Mayor Margaret Gathermoon. And after having it for more than a year, it was almost finished. Everything smelled _new_ but still had the rustic charm of a historical site.

“Everything is recycled and we reused as many as the original elements as we could. We’re pretty much done with all the new electrical, too! Brand new solar panels, the foundation is fixed, the roof restoration is almost finished...” she laughed, bright and cheerful. “Darwin kept me on track.”

Speaking of which, Doga Yellow was currently half wedged into the wall pulling on something. The one wing exposed was extended precariously, intended to give him balance while he was submerged in the crawlspace. The Doga Commando was muttering loud, wanting to swear but always cutting himself off. “Miku, try the lights again. I think I crossed the wires wrong.”

Miku flicked the lights on and off. “Looks like you got it. Good job! Was that the last one?

“Yeah, no more electrical. I’ll get back on the banister varnish in a minute.” The Axian wrenched himself free, pulling his extended wing back and neatly refolding it. He swiveled his head around to look at the two women. His optic apertures adjusted at the sight of Perez. Sazabi was wholesomely more terrifying, but watching that optic lock on her was still unsettling. “Miku...?”

“This is Dr. Perez. She works with the SDG and came out for a visit. Chief Haro sent her… he said a drive into the country for some fresh air would do her good. She had a pretty hefty accident like I did. Gotta help out fellow coworkers, right?”

“Considering Walker is flat as a petroleum pizza somewhere, I don’t think that’s an all encompassing sentiment.” His optic flared, still locked in on Viola. “I remember. You were from Robo House.”

Miku’s expression fell, betrayed. She looked at Viola.

“Yes, I was,” she said. “I’m a cyberneurologist. I never worked directly with the patients, but I monitored Zapper Zaku and Commander Sazabi.”

“And I was stuck with Walker. Wonderful. Thanks for that. He was great.” Doga Yellow’s sarcasm was at least cheerful. Viola was afraid to say she liked that.

Miku left them alone to go and get the rice balls, once it was clear that the ex-Commando wasn’t angry. Doga Yellow, Darwin, led Viola onto the back porch of the farmhouse. Over a dozen finished canvases were laid out in the shade to air dry, acrylic sealant glistening on the layers of acrylic. The porch was recently stripped and resealed, too. The varnish was even darker than the front porch. In the sunlight, the Axian’s armor was speckled with matte sections of latex paint and the same color wood stain.

“Both of you have been busy,” Viola said. “The house looks immaculate.”

“Miku is presenting it to the mayor’s art goons next week. Your human leadership is obsessed with this kind of thing, for some reason. The art, I mean.” He gestured to one of the paintings. It was a mosaic of colors, mismatched like his yellow and evergreen. Viola squinted.

“You have to look at it in greyscale,” Darwin said. “Colorblind, remember?”

“That’s _yours?”_

“I know you’re not here to look at the art show. I’m not here to be friends, either.” Darwin swiveled his optic to look at her. “I’m still pretty fragged about the whole Robo House spiel. What do you really want?”

She _didn’t_ know, and that was the worst part about this whole trip. Chief Haro had sent her the address, but the only thing here was a house, a human, and an Axian. It sounded like the opening to an insensitive joke when the Dark Axis was no laughing matter. Had she been made to drive out all this way to see how a alien not even assigned to her was faring? What was the point?

Viola said nothing and took out her phone, opening the camera app and panning it across Doga Yellow’s paintings. Seeing it in a new light gave her renewed perspective. The artwork wasn’t misshapen blobs of paint spattered haphazardly anymore. They were a house, Miku’s prosthetics propped against a wall, an urban landscape, still life with stacked dishes, three other Doga Bombers hanging against a cloudy sky...

Viola had something in her throat. “These are good?”

“You can have the flower one if you want. I think it came out stupid.” Even lacking moving face parts, the Axian still managed to look disgusted. “Miku says I should offer some of the others to the Mayor Margaret. She can have them if she lets me have my flight equipment back.”

Miku came out with rice balls. They sat at the patio table with tea and talked about other plans for the house, as well as another potential project on the other side of the colony. Despite the differences between the two, they were able to alternate narration on the conversation fluently. From floors to marble counter-tops to painting to wood treatment—

A cyberneurologist walks into an old house with a human and an axian. It _was_ the opening to a joke, but it wasn’t a joke anymore. Jokes were a suspension of reality to create a comedic effect, but this _was_ reality. On a warm evening in May, the Dark Axis first attacked the public head on and none of this would have seemed possible.

(People move on.)

“Perez?” Doga Yellow nudged her plate to get her attention. The porcelain clicked on the glass tabletop. “You okay, human?”

Viola looked up. Darwin and Miku were sitting side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder. That would have been a good painting, too.

“I’m fine,” she said. She had her answer.

**ix**

To many, robots were nothing more than a series of electrical impulses sent into a computer, giving it the impression of life.

N.C. 180 was the year robots in Neoopia were granted full citizenship and the right to vote, more than a hundred years earlier. The case was _Caboose v. Caulton._ The GM Caboose’s lawsuit was appealed all the way to the Neotopia supreme court where Mayor Caulton attempted to have it thrown out... but public was too heavily split. Dismissing the case would lead to civil unrest not seen since the GM Alex petitioned for the right to marry their human spouse. The Steel Roses weren’t going to let this one slide without a fight, either. The case was landmarked by its content as well as the fury by which both sides fought.

One of those sides aged better than the other. Caulton did not go down in history as a “good” mayor.

The worst of the anti-citizenship spiel towards robots was that they could never be _real_ people. But what was real? In the eyes of the city defendants, robots were only mimicking human behavior and were not inherently sapient as a result. Any expressions of disdain, hurt, and _pain_ were only part of a response programmed into their software. It was there because it made them better companions for humans. Reacting to stimuli didn’t _make_ them capable of wielding personhood, the same way a flower would turn towards the sun but wasn’t conscious. Flowers didn’t have complex thoughts or feelings. They were just flowers.

Caboose and his attorneys tore the opposition to shreds. By extension, humans were exactly the same. Their brains were also nothing more than a series of electrical impulses. Damage to that central device, that organic computer, rendered them as lifeless as the next GM husk thrown away after a terminal crash.  Where was the divide? In the make of the origins as metal or flesh? Something more? Would the exact definition ever be set in stone, scientifically or morally? Humans were organic machines rather than metal. The two could not be separated. And if they were _still_ separated at the end of this hearing, the courts would have to deal with every. Single. Discrimination lawsuit the firm had lined up. Two thousand and counting.

The supreme court relented in an eight to one decision. Humans and robots were the same under the law, but they were not the same during the Dark Axis invasion.

Not every robot in Neotopia was tagged with a control horn, the same way not every human suffered from the effects of petrification. The bagu-bagu themselves had a finite carrying capacity for the serum that caused the concrete mutation. Once they ran out of the serum, they turned off and ceased functioning. Their ability to transfigure entire landscapes and ecosystems had to do with the amount of insects released and over how wide of an area. Cheyenne Nature Park (home of the popular Swan Boat River Tour and Restaurant) was the first widespread area to be affected by the process. There was no hiding it from the public. The mayor’s office and SDG had a joint info suppression effort to hide the truth from civilians, but too many unruly teens and adamant news reporters were able to clear the quarantine zones. From there, it did not take a genius to realize that “unknown surface mold” and “solid concrete” were two very different beasts. But the area of effect paled in comparison to what happened to the city. One square mile of nature preserve was nothing to thirty square miles of Neotopia central.

When the retired Peace Core volunteers, police, and SDG operatives attempted to evacuate the city, Perez had a bad feeling. From the moment the _Magna Musai_ appeared, the SDG workers were smart enough to herd everyone inside the nearest abandoned U-C Mart. By the time they boarded up the two air vents and blocked the bottom of the only entrance, the swarm had darkened the sky from mid-morning to night. Like the robots to the control horns, organic life had varied reactions to the petrification seurem. While some GMs were more violent than others, some humans took entire minutes to transform into stone. Viola and the other survivors watched in horror as a group of a dozen teenagers were overtaken. Some froze mid-stride. Two more slowed down and gradually came to a halt, screaming until their vocal chords fossilized. Another found a place to sit down as his legs froze, burying his face in his hands and crying until he couldn’t.

To many, robots were nothing more than a series of electrical impulses sent into a computer, giving it the impression of life. But humans were the same by definition, and their differences — whether their downfall be control horns or turning to rock — didn’t matter.

They were all going to die the same, together.

After the mechanized insects were gone, the sky darkened once more. Violet clouds choked the sky. The smell of burning rocket fuel and a metallic chemical reaction was enough to make Viola’s eyes water.

Commander Sazabi arrived.

“Citizens of Neotopia, mechanical— or otherwise. Hear me!” 

The slow rising _roar_ of the invading robots reverberated throughout the abandoned city streets. A victory rally, one thousand howling wolves in the kingdom of sheep. The cheering for the arrival of their leader as enough to terrify the young grade schooler next to her. She couldn’t have been more than seven. Sophia, usually so quick to comfort children, did not move. No one dared open the door to get a better view. A cab driver GM turned on the store’s television with a shaking hand. Neotopia News Network was still online somehow. No anchor. Just a lone cameraman in the downtown plaza who had avoided being stung. Determined to serve their city in the only way they could, they swung the camera high to zoom on a projection from the top of the monstrosity that had sprouted on top of Neotopia Tower. The robot in the projection was framed with gold and red.

“And Gundams, especially you… hear me and obey! For I am Commander Sazabi: master of this world!”

In another lifetime, humans doted upon themselves the title of being Masters of this world. Before the robots of Neotopia had the right to be equal. Despite that truth, the GMs still wept with the rest of them. Total strangers huddled together to embrace and accept their fate. The cab driver GM, a sharp dressed business woman, an exotic dancer, and a waiter femmebot congregated. A retired Peace Core officer cried while a young SDG worker comorted them. Sophia, sweet Sophia, who barely spoke more than a few sentences after the Control Horns were turned off, clung to Viola and told her she loved her. Viola could not see past her tears.

“So you see, _little_ ones… you have no choice. Or I should say you _do_ have a choice: you can submit, obey, and become slaves of the Dark Axis, or you can be destroyed. The _choice..._ is yours.”

To many, robots were nothing more than a series of electrical impulses sent into a computer, giving it the impression of life. But humans were the same by definition, too much the same. They grieved identical in extinction.

It was a miracle that things turned out the way they did. That boy having the courage to confront the Commander alone, with nothing but a comatose Gundam at his side. When the effects of the petrification were reversed with the altered white bagu-bagu, Viola clung to hope the same way she clung to her wife’s hand. The air was stale with conflict when they stepped outside the U-C Mart. The once frozen teens had come out of their paralyzed stupor to join them. The city cheered with _determination_ as Captain Gundam confronted the Commander Sazabi and drove him to defeat, the loss of one armament at a time. Piece by piece, until they both fell apart.

Their victory was set in stone until the moment Captain plucked the Soul Drive out of Sazabi’s chest, rather than smash it to pieces like he should have. How could Neotopia’s survival ride on the fact that the very monster who threatened it was still alive?

To many, robots were nothing more than a series of electrical impulses sent into a computer, giving it the impression of life. But if humans were the same by definition, what did that make Sazabi? No human, not even any Neotopia robot, deserved to get compared to _that_. He was as the exception. Electrical impulses sent into a computer, sent into a gun, fueling all Four Horsemen. Pestilence in petrification. Famine in starvation for the sun. War in mind controlled rampages.

Death.

When Sazabi’s containment at Robo House was no longer possible, Chief Haro was the one who approached her about monitoring his memory allocation and processor activity. “Dr. Perez. Will you be able to do this task under medical oath, with no ulterior motive or bias, without conflict of conscience?”

“Yes, I can,” she lied.

As awful as petrification was, the prospect of things _not_ being set in stone was scaring her. For weeks going on months, Commander Sazabi’s mind changed. Using his targeting software to recognize faces wasn’t all. He was using his high-speed positioning processes to refine how gently he could handle items. He was utilizing his pain-pleasure computer to rewrite how he funnelled said data, from channelling aggression to refining visual input and taste. His language center went from a lesser used asset to a forward-center allocation, as he listened to whatever his human warden was saying to him. _Really_ listened. He was evolving beyond anyone’s expectations. Turning into a whole new breed of monster, even more intelligent than the one who mind controlled her wife into almost breaking her neck and throwing her across the Laplace Von Braun quad and... _and_...

To many, robots were nothing more than a series of electrical impulses sent into a computer, giving it the impression of fuck. Fuck it. Fuck everything. Fuck her oath and fuck the Dark Axis and fuck that awful little simulation telling her that Sazabi was upgrading himself into something even more dangerous than he already was. The gun could not be allowed to reload and shoot someone _ever again._ Not her. Not Sophia. No one. Not if she shot first.

The password to Noir Base’s armaments bunker was easily accessible to her. She was a cyberneurologist, which meant analyzing non-sapient computer systems was frighteningly simple. She didn’t even need extra clearance, because there were no parameters in place for clearance in the first place. To the one GM who passed by saw her, she was just another scientist looking into weapons research to further arm the Gundams. No one questioned her when she grabbed the closest rifle and its ammunition and loaded it onto the tarp covered cart. No one questioned her when she took the shortcut through the statue storage room, stopping to stare at a familiar body of a frozen girl with a concrete sweater thrown over her head. No one stopped her when she rolled it right out of the storage facility and into the parking lot.

To many, robots were nothing more than a series of electrical impulses sent into a computer, giving it the impression of life. By extension, humans were exactly the same.

Perez felt heavy as stone as she made the drive to Keiko Ray’s home, the heavy gun weighed down in the cradle of her trunk.

**x**

The second time Viola Perez drove to the Ray house, there was no weapon in the boot of her car. Just crutches (in case she needed them) and one of Doga Yellow’s paintings. She had snuck out of her own house again.

She wasn’t able to pull straight into the long driveway, blocked by construction vehicles. She settled for pulling off the side of the road behind a pleased looking crane, who was using her hand-attachment to feed the samurai’s gunhorse. Someone had given her an entire bag of carrots. One hand clutched the plastic like a child, the other delicately plucked the orange vegetables free. Entengo eagerly mowed on the offered goodies from behind a quaint brown fence. Smacking metal teeth and stomping hooves were drowned out by power tools as she got closer to the entrance walkway.

If there had been a structural fire, there was no evidence of it now. The painters were finishing the last of the exterior work, a lawn care company was layering fertilizer—

Keiko’s husband was at her side moments later, helping her along. He had seen her limping closer and mistaken her gait for a struggle. The assistance was still appreciated, though. “Whoaaa, you could have pulled in closer if you wanted! How’ve you been, doc?”

“Better. I’m sorry for intruding while you’re busy rebuilding. I won’t be long. I just needed to see Keiko.”

“Don’t be sorry at all! Our house is always open to friends and family.” Mark paused. “Well. Most family. I think my mother earned a lifetime ban.”

The inside of the extraordinary house was larger than Viola remembered. At first, she thought it might have had to do with the knowledge that Sazabi wasn’t there. She felt less caged going into the foyer, knowing that the prowling Axian was nowhere close by. Then it occurred to her that the ceilings were… higher? Yes. Absolutely. The doorways were the same height because they were built with support frames that could not be moved, but the room height extended past them. The portals into the living room and kitchens were wider, too. The staircase was less narrow with higher clearance at the top. If Sazabi ever came back into this house, he wouldn’t have to duck his head anymore.

Keiko was in the kitchen with a group of construction workers. The men and women, humans and GMs alike, were diving into the plate of banana bread with thank yous and other praise. They were midway through leaving when Keiko Ray saw her. The woman stood in the redone space bouncing Nanako in the crook of an arm.

“Dr. Perez!” Keiko smiled and quickly walked over, touching her shoulder and offering a seat in the kitchen nook. “Please, sit down. I’m so sorry— by the time I heard that you had woken up from your coma, you were already gone. I’m so glad you stopped by. How are you feeling?”

“Stiff,” she said. “Please call me Viola.”

“Of course, Viola.” Keiko handed Nakako off to Mark, who took her wordlessly. “Banana bread?”

“If I’m not a bother…”

She gave her two heartfelt slices on a plate and offered her a drink. Perez asked for coffee. Keiko went to brew some

“The house is immaculate,” Viola said. “I saw photographs after the fire. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Keiko came back with her coffee. She had made tea for herself and sat down across from her. Even with the baby, the distraction of the construction around them, and being in the midst of finals season for the grade school she worked at... she looked well. _Very_ well. Almost glowing. Keiko was doing spectacular for a woman who had almost been killed by her negligence.

“Zako Red— Gerbera. He stole the gun out of my trunk. The EM rifle. I’m sure you recognized it when he tried to shoot the Commander.” Viola couldn’t find the strength to drink her coffee. She stared into the dark liquid at her own reflection, rippling as the house trembled from the workers. A drill was firing off somewhere. Someone had a radio playing with the newest Madame Rawr hit, a power ballad about a loved one lost. People were moving up and down the stairs with heavy footfalls. “He went after Sazabi and used you and Nanako to _get_ to him. Then he almost destroyed your house.”

“The fire was very scary, yes, but the renovations were needed. We’re all fine thanks to Sazabi. My daughter and I weren’t hurt.”

“Sazabi was hurt.” The ripples in the coffee intensified. Viola realized she was gripping the table, and her own shaking was causing the entire bankette to vibrate. She couldn’t stop. “He was hurt very, _very_ bad.”

“He survived. They’re rebuilding him.”

It was word vomit. “They’re missing vital parts. Even if they turn him back on, it won’t be Sazabi.”

_“Zabi!”_

Mark had stuck his head back into the kitchen with Nana. The child was clutching a red dinosaur stuffed animal in one hand. Mark opened his mouth to ask his wife a question, and Nana took aim. The dinosaur bounced off Viola’s head and landed on the table in front of her.

“Oops! Sorry, doc.” Mark went to pluck the toy back up, but not before Viola reached for it. It was felt that was soft from a recent tumble through the washing machine. “She gets excited when we mention him around here.”

“Red!”

“Yes, he’s red.” Keiko redirected her husband to where he last left his phone. He was expecting some calls from his studio in the city. When he was gone again, the schoolteacher continued. “I know that there are some hurdles, but I want to believe that everyone in the SDG will do what they can. Just like you did what _you_ could.”

“I showed up at your house with a gun.”

“I forgive you, if that’s what this is about.” Keiko paused, then got up again. She went to get something from the fridge, returning with a plate of rice balls wrapped in styrofoam. “I think you need to forgive yourself even more.”

**xi**

Perez wasn’t ready for full fledged forgiveness, for herself or the Commander. Having a life and death struggle so few months ago during the original invasion, the wounds were yet to heal.

“They will someday, mi vida,” Sophia said gently, stroking her hair.

Both women were on the sofa, watching a movie to unwind. On the wall behind them, Doga Yellow’s colorful painting (the flower) was propped between two other paintings Angelita got from a DIY convention. They had stopped watching halfway through when Viola put the film on mute. They sat in silence together for a long time, watching the images move on the screen as the lead actress mimed a confrontation with a stranger. The story was probably compelling, but there was no urge to find distraction from her own thoughts any longer.

“You regret bringing the gun to the house,” Sophia said.

“Yes. Of course. What I did—”

“The mech that attacked Sazabi and you would have brought his own weapon, one way or another. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, mi amor. Do not let it weigh you down. You are struggling enough.”

“I’m struggling because I made an oath to protect you at our wedding, and I failed.” Viola leaned back, curling into the blankets. “I let it consume me. I sat in the dark with my demons when you warned me not to.”

“You were not alone with your demons, though.” Sophia hesitated. “I… I was so angry. So very angry after the invasion. I kept it to myself. I thought if I ignored my feelings, they would go away. Then after you were almost killed… you were in a coma for so many weeks…”

The movie continued.

“Sazabi is not the same,” Viola said. “The control horns let the Dark Axis manipulate all the mobile citizens, but Sazabi himself was being manipulated. Staying angry at him for that is no different than being angry at the GM who put that awful thing on your head.”

“Or me,” Sophia said.

When the GM started to cry, the movie was forgotten entirely. Viola held her wife, rocking her gently. “Sophia—”

“I know you’re angry at me still,” she said between choked intakes. “I—”

“I was _never_ angry!” Viola felt her chest knot. “You weren’t in control. You…”

She held her wife, stroked the top of her head and peppered kisses where necessary. It was the best she could do without muddling the conversation with unnecessary words. The missing conversation made her think. Between her wife’s static filled cries, Viola felt the realization grip her. How much control had _Sazabi_ had, really? The Dark Axis had those who ruled and those who were ruled. Those who were born to control and those who were made to _be_ controlled. As the control horn ruled Sophia for a time, who ruled Sazabi?

No one, once he broke free at mach speed straight into the ground.

She forgave him.

**xii**

Three weeks after leaving the hospital, Viola Perez lingered outside the door to her study. The movie had ended and her wife had gone to bed. It was almost midnight.

She held her breath and pushed the door open,

It was exactly as she left it. The room, originally converted from a storage closet, had no windows and was lined with bookshelves crammed with datapads and paper folders bound together by fat elastics. Years of research, blood and sweat and tears, went into accumulating the data she had.

She pushed aside the book on her desk and opened her desktop. She plugged in her laptop, the external drives, and rebooted the system.

Another power surge killed electricity in the whole house.

Twenty minutes later, she was back in her office to try again. Partly out of curiosity, partly as an attempt to see if her equipment was the problem. Both Angelita and Sophia were asleep, so there was no need to worry about anyone flipping the breakers for the rest of the house. No— she wanted everything off except for her office. Whatever the power fluxes were, they were originating here.

The computer came on. Immediately, CPU usage was off the grid. It took almost fifteen minutes to load the software that had been used to monitor Commander Sazabi. The program rebooted and reloaded to where she left off. She used the touch screen to palm through to the day of the second invasion. Looking at the timestamps was like looking at footprints in sand.

There was an explosion of data moments before the invasion. She could see the flatline in the moment of impact.

The data kept recording.

“What.” She kept palming her way through.

True to the Commander’s horrifying fashion of constantly catching her off guard, the recordings did not stop.

“You can’t _do_ that,” Dr. Perez once again said to an empty office.

She used her desktop computer and a second laptop to allocate some of the burden from her software, using an algorithm to trace where the signal was coming from. Now the power surges made sense: the signal was being routed through three separate avenues. How Sazabi managed to accomplish it was beyond her. Somehow, using the Captain System satellite, her software’s automatic backup system, and the servers linked at Robo House…

Dr. Perez seized the laptop, flung herself out of the house despite Sophia’s protests, and drove into the city. She went to the apartment complex she needed to get to and rode the elevator all the way up. There was no time to call Blanc Base direct. Not if there was a mole in their midst who had connections to anyone who would try and stop her. She had to get this to the right person immediately. She slammed her fist on the door to the apartment.

His Ball assistant answered. Watson looked nonplussed. “Unless you’re here to offer me more dialo—”

She stepped over him easily. “Kao Lyn!”

“Viola?” The man was curled over his desk, agonizing over blueprints. He looked exhausted. “What are you—?”

“I know how to retrieve Commander Sazabi’s AI,” she said. Her heart rate was wild.

“Viola.” Kao Lyn held his hands out. “What is it?”

“Kao Lyn.” She clutched the laptop close to her chest. “I’m _holding him.”_

 

**xiii**

Robo House sat abandoned for weeks following the death of Dr. Walker and the complete shutdown of the program. The iron rod decorative fence stood chained and locked, holding silent vigil over the still churned front lawn from emergency vehicles tires.

Juli Petrov did not slow down. She rammed the SDG armored vehicle through the barricade, sending the gate flying off its own hinges. Above, gunperries descended.

Juli Petrov (still in pajama bottoms), Kao Lyn, and Viola Perez stepped out of the vehicle with a dozen others behind them as the four black gunperries landed. Chief Haro’s white gunperry was less than twenty seconds behind them. The man stepped out, still adjusting his helmet.

“I told my wife there was a wall fire at the studio,” he said to Kao Lyn. Viola wondered if she had been meant to hear that or not. “How sure are we?”

“One hundred percent positive,” Kao Lyn said. He was shaking. “The data doesn’t lie.”

All the entrances had been welded shut. It took ten minutes to get through, and another fifteen to navigate the darkened hallways of the uppermost hospital level. Any attempts to restore power went in vain: something was draining it far too fast to get the elevators to work.

“The emergency tunnels!” Kao Lyn snapped. “It’s a downward slope. We can get all the equipment down there. Hurry!”

Robo House’s lowermost server room was the primary site for all of the SDG’s computer systems. The complex was so well guarded, it made _sense_ to have them down there. Viola Perez’s discovery was made just in time: plans were in place to disable the servers and move them to Noir Base. Robo House was no longer an asset of the SDG and “ownership” had switched back to the government to do with it as it pleased.

From the moment they stepped into the server room, the crews of engineers (led by a very exhausted Bellwood) got to work extracting what they needed.

“He backed himself up,” Viola breathed. “And the backup just kept… existing. Without us even realizing.”

“His surviving motherboard _was_ part of the psycommu system, and he used it to full effect!” As the room swarmed with tech staff, Kao Lyn spun and gestured to the whole room. He was shaking, talking a mile a minute. “He used it to control the nursing staff and his funnel, but he also used it to seize control of a spot in the Brain World!  The converted Captain System satellite that we were using to track him— he jailbroke his way into the software! The extra space that connected to Dr. Perez’s computer and the Robo House servers, he dedicated as storage!”

“That’s amazing.” Juli was wide-eyed. A cowlick mused her hair. She must have gone to bed early that night. She wouldn’t be sleeping again anytime soon. “But the fact he was also using Perez’s computer as additional backup means that he ran out of space here in the server room _and_ on the satellite. He’s been here for months. How overworked is his AI, trying to preserve itself for that long?”

“Retrieve _everything,”_ Chief Haro said. His voice wasn’t a shout, but it commanded the attention of every person in the room. “Anything that can be identified as Sazabi’s, segregate and extract. The sooner we reconstruct his AI and memories…”

Viola Perez quietly kept to herself. She sat down at a desk to assist with the data extraction, opening her laptop to continue monitoring his AI. Even now, even without a processor to allocate and evolve, Sazabi was still _working._

“Welcome back,” she breathed, and sat surrounded by lights.


	19. Keiko: ACT III

  **The wind, which blows slowly, this night changes my destiny.**

**I feel that the heart will still be surprised.**

**Life now makes more sense.**

**Everything is different.**

**Breath in the universe.**

**Your eyes are two stars in the darkness...**

**i**

“Mrs. Ray? I must apologize to you. We made a mistake.” The small brunette woman sat down across from them, placing a manila file on the table. “Commander Sazabi is alive.”

It was almost two in the morning, hours after the surgeon first delivered the news that Sazabi  _passed away._ The world had been a blur after that. Too many things that night had been raw and ugly, too unspeakable. She was held hostage in her own kitchen. Nanako was kidnapped. The house she helped build was still burning when the gunperry lifted her to safety. She had been so hopeful that the situation would resolve itself... but seeing the gold-red comet streaking across the sky made her realize it would be with consequence. Sazabi was not going to walk away unscathed. He was going to be  _hurt_.

Somehow, for some reason, she bargained with herself that it couldn’t be worse than what Captain Gundam did to him. That alone was “proof” to her that he would be alright.

Keiko Ray had to be escorted to a private counselling room to wait for her husband. She was so gobsmacked that she lost control of herself, fell into  _hysterics_. A loss therapist was called up and gave her a mild sedative via injection. She needed it. Nanako wouldn’t relax down unless  _she_ did, and her sweet baby had gone through enough. The Diazepam took less than eight minutes to take effect. She was calm but still heartbroken. Mark arrived twenty minutes later, drenched in sweat as if he had run a marathon in a mascot suit. They embraced for a long time and did not let go.

When she asked if they could leave, Mark shook his head.

“I ran into that Chief Haro guy on the way here,” he said. “He said something came up. It’s important.”

He had such serious conviction in his voice. Keiko trusted him completely. They stayed in that dark and quiet little room, listening to the sounds of their own breathing. Their daughter’s breathing. Even if Sazabi was gone, Nana  _wasn’t._

Elizabeth Keene, the surgeon, did not come back. Instead, it was one of the nurses who came to deliver an update. She introduced herself as Marianne Burghs. There was a strong smell like soap and disinfectant about her. She was wearing clothes that were far too clean for the rest of her dishevelled appearance, too. Her makeup was recently reapplied, hair hastily combed back, but there was no hiding the exhaustion she carried herself with. It was the same exhaustion Keiko felt. Marianne had worked with Sazabi, too.

_Commander Sazabi is alive._

“How can that be?” Mark asked, but he didn’t sound surprised. No— Keiko knew her husband well enough to judge when something  _actually_ caught him unawares. Then again, he must have been so tired. Nothing could have shocked him at this point… yes, that had to be it. “Your boss told my wife he was dead. What happened?”

“We think it had to do with the Soul Drive. One minute his systems were flatlined, and the next he was… awake.” Marianne paused, opening the file. “He’s in critical condition, but we have him stabilized in intensive care. I have the surgery documents, if you would like to—”

Mark was holding their daughter. With one arm cradling Nanako, he reached out with the other and took the file. He put it down in front of him, went to turn the page... and hesitated. He looked at Keiko. “Do you...?”

She nodded. “I want to see.”

The photographs were horrifying. Macabre, high-resolution images of machine gore burned into her brain. On one hand, it was just machinery. A cleaved engine block, severed wires charred black by fire, oil congealed like tar as thick as batter... the first image of Sazabi’s face nearly sent her over the edge again. His optic was shattered. Paint bled off his armor like blood, exposing the scorched silver beneath. His hidden jaw sat pried open, tubes and a thick brace shoved down his throat.

Another image showed a hollowed cavity with a mess of metallic cobweb. Keiko asked what it was.

“The inside of his head,” Marianne said. “His processor melted.”

Commander Sazabi’s death certificate, drafted and copied in the folder, was branded with a red VOID. Dr. Keene’s signature sat beneath as confirmation. When the crash cart failed to revive him, Sazabi was pronounced  _dead_ and clean-up efforts began. When another surgeon went to reach into his mouth to pull a Co2 hose out, the red mech clamped his jaws  _down_ and resumed thrashing. Somehow, he had auto-resuscitated. It wasn’t unheard of for robots to do this, but only when their injuries were significantly less severe. Also, it never took more than two minutes. Sazabi had been clinically dead for almost sixteen.

“Dr. Keene was in the middle of speaking with you when all this happened. It’s called the Lazarus phenomenon. In humans, it’s a spontaneous restarting of the heart after initial CPR has attempted and stopped. It’s never been recorded in robots, but...” Marianne’s voice was apologetic. “It was a horrible mistake. We are so sorry for upsetting you, Mrs. Ray.”

“But Sazabi still might die,” Keiko said. Her voice sounded hollow, unrecognizable even to herself.

Marianne Burghs bit her lip, then recomposed herself. It didn’t matter. Keiko saw it and knew what it meant. “We will try our best to help him, Mrs. Ray. Even if it’s only to keep him comfortable before the end.”

_The end._

Keiko tried her hardest to imagine what it was like for Sazabi and regretted doing so. Did he understand what had happened to him? Did he know why he was hurt, where he was, who these people were that were trying to help him? She didn’t think Sazabi was capable of fearing fear: only instilling it. The  _only_ time she might have seen genuine fear was on the Horn of War, when Captain Gundam destroyed the Commander’s pepsabers...

She reached out, touching a new photograph next to a complicated looking report. It was crammed with terminology she had no grasp over. ATF: zero percent. ECM: destroyed. OBD: non-functional, diagnostics by naked-eye observation only, see report K-12 for details... She couldn’t read it, but there was no way she couldn’t recognize the  _terror_ in Sazabi’s optic. His optic rolled back and staring into the hard lights above him, apertures locked wide in unconsciousness. He had been scared. Before passing into a coma, Commander Sazabi had been afraid. Alone. Hurt.

Dying.

Sazabi had gone to Nanako Ray’s rescue. But no one from the Ray family had gone to  _his_ , when he had most needed it, frightened and suffering.

Mark was still holding Nana. The baby was beginning to fuss again, disturbed by either the conversation or something else. Seeing her, thinking about Sazabi, had pushed her over the edge once again. Mark was already turning to embrace her as she leaned forward, burying her face in her husband’s chest, quietly crying.

**ii**

It would be snowing soon.

The orbit of Neos II around its star was not identical to the human race’s original geolocation, Earth. It had a shorter year at 360 days, with bissextile years occurring every two with four extra days. It kept the seasons synchronized, as far as seasons went for Neotopia. The weather modules controlled by the city’s weather institute maintained the artificial environment. Many species of plants and animals relied on a hibernation period, so brief bouts of scheduled cold fronts were compulsory. Winter-grade weather was usually scheduled from December onward, with spring temperatures set to start no later than March.

“Not this year,” Dr. Bellwood said. “One of my buddies at the weather center says that the city council made an executive decision to start spring in January.”

“Why is that?” Keiko asked.

“They’re afraid of a third invasion attempt,” Chief Haro said. The three of them walked together, entering the robotics department of Blanc Base. Out the base’s window, the gathering clouds of a snowstorm could be seen on the horizon. Below, a tranquil cloud cover signalled the arrival of a flurry. “If the Dark Axis were to catch us unawares in winter, even if it were mild...”

“The Dark Axis isn’t even here, and the environment is  _still_ getting screwed over,” Bellwood grumbled. “If it’s not statue-bugs and toxic cloud cover, it’s scaring old people eggheads into throwing the seasons off. Not like Kao Lyn couldn’t just equip the Gunchoppers into Gunplowers. We’d be fine.”

“Don’t.” Chief Haro pointed at him, warning. “It’s bad enough I had to convince him not to install Gunbike into the  _Gundam Musai._ Thank goodness we were able to get RAIMI instead...”

“Yeah, and now he’s a tank. Good improvement, boss. He’s not even a slow tank either, that chassis turns on a goddamn  _dime.”_

The base’s robotics department was a mix of offices, laboratories, and workstations not too dissimilar to garages. They passed several of the open bays on their way deeper into the base, going by the Re-Equip Ring and gunperries under repair. Shute probably had a run of the place when he spent weekends “hanging out” with his friend Captain.

“Just around the mall, mom,” he said to her once. She should have been mad at him for lying. If he wasn’t running around Blanc Base yelling about how great the tech was, he was off saving the world. She had no idea where he got it from.  _Mark_ certainly wasn’t like that...

Chief Haro entered a password on a door, at the end of a long corridor. “We’re here.”

Kao Lyn’s workshop was the largest of all the working garage-like spaces. Adjacent to  _that_ was large connecting space that looked like the entrance hallway of a movie theatre. It might as well have been: the room they first entered was an observation platform. Lined with seats and desks, there was a command station and a huge bay window looking into a white chamber. It had been affectionately dubbed the Party Room.

When Keiko asked why, Kao Lyn was smiling. He walked up from the command station to join them.

“Every Gundam from Neotopia was activated in this room. Gunbot, Captain, Guneagle, the Gundivers…” He led the small group back down into the sloped viewing theatre, to the command desk. It had the best view of the room below. “It’s where they all had their first birthday.”

Keiko didn’t know what Sazabi’s actual birthday was. When they had Nanako’s birthday party in August, she had given him his present (getting his flight equipment back) out of principle. Nanako was getting gifts: why leave Sazabi out when he had been so well-behaved as of late? Now he was going to have an  _official_ birthday, even if it was improvised. SDG staff were rolling in huge computers in the Party Room below, each with flashing bulbs and knobs. It caught Keiko off guard. Kao Lyn explained as they continued to establish their complicated setup.

“Sazabi’s AI is complex,” he said. “He had to store himself on multiple servers, a satellite,  _and_ a personal laptop to make a sufficient backup. Our technology wasn’t sufficient enough to keep him together in one place.

“So he had to spread out.” Keiko frowned. She reached up to touch the glass, stopping herself short. A fourth, fifth, and  _sixth_ backup supercomputer were brought in. “He’s fragmented?”

“Very much, but he laid out the groundwork for us to put him back together,” Bellwood said. His hands were folded behind his head, lax. “The data we found at Robo House was practically time stamped and labelled. It was like he was screaming  _don’t put me back out of order._ He knew we would find him eventually.”

“Unfortunately for the Commander,  _eventually_  was much longer than anticipated.” Kao Lyn sat down, and Keiko was compelled to follow his example. He leaned back, sagged, and the glasses came off. His eyes were the sharpest green she had ever seen, almost unnatural. “Trying to maintain that much data on insufficient alien technology, on three separate platforms? It would have been exhausting. No matter how advanced his base AI parameters were, Sazabi was going to wane.”

“Wane?”

“Without regular maintenance, electronic information can degrade over time.” Chief Haro crossed his arms. “Commander Sazabi’s backup taking up so much space, and wrecking so much havoc...”

Bellwood made a noise. “Havoc? That’s all you can say? We had to take the entire Captain System satellite offline and gut it. That thing was fried like no tomorrow! Hell, we can’t even salvage  _any_ of the Robo House servers. Perez will be lucky if she can so much as run Tetris on her lap—”

Keiko cleared her throat. Both Kao Lyn and Chief Haro looked to her. Dr. Bellwood was too distressed to do more than knot his fingers in his hair and look forlornly out the large window.

“We’re sorry, Keiko,” Kao Lyn said. His voice was quiet. “There’s a chance that Sazabi’s data was corrupted. How significantly, we can’t discern. We know that his self-preservation programming utilized more assets as his storage conditions began to decay. He started using his remaining resources to reach back to his body using the Psycommu System, to discover new hardware to preserve himself.”

Bellwood scoffed. “Yeah, like an entire  _person_ and—”

At this, the Commander’s uncoordinated funnel bumped into the glass. Once, twice, and then it got the idea it could not proceed forward and stopped. “Noodles” hovered closest to Keiko at eye-level. It had no camera or optic to speak of, but she felt it was staring straight back at her.

“Is Sazabi actually aware...?”

“Unfortunately, no. This state that he’s in is akin sleepwalking. He likely won’t remember any of this. Not without having proper memory storage this whole time.” Kao Lyn stood up, walking back towards the command post. There was some activity below that caught his attention. They all looked down to see the large doors on the side wall open, and Commander was pushed out. He was restrained on the cart with thick leather straps, reinforced with chain. Keiko recognized the surgeon, Elizabeth Keene, and several members of her staff following behind. The cart was being pushed by SDG security GMs, two Gunchoppers (Five and Two), and Guneagle. The Commander was freshly polished and in pristine condition, compared to when he was first brought into Blanc Base three months earlier. The funnel immediately swooped down, hovering close.

“What are the risks behind this transfer?” Keiko asked. “I know you wanted my input, but you wouldn’t have called me here if everything was fine. The possible data corruption...”

“There are risks, yes,” Kao Lyn said. “If our technology wasn’t enough to support the Commander Sazabi’s assets, some data can still get lost in transfer. Other bytes could be destroyed completely. He could have total memory loss, software decay, glitches…”

“He could even die,” Keiko said. There was no need to draw the conversation out like this. She knew what he was saying. “After everything we’ve done to get to this point…”

“We wanted you to know.” Chief Haro put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. It was a comforting gesture, the same exact one that her husband would use sometimes. She would have to call him after to give him the update... “Sazabi is the star of the show, but you’re the woman behind the curtain. If I have your full support, we can proceed.”

“If we don’t take the risk, he won’t have any chance at all.” Keiko gazed out the window, looking down at the Commander below. She reached over her shoulder and touched Chief Haro’s hand back, squeezing. In the Party Room, dozens of heavy cables were being wired into Sazabi’s head, linking with the installed ports necessary for the massive file dump ahead. The process was interrupted when Guneagle moved too close to the Commander to tighten one of the restraints. Noodles responded by rocketing into his face at full speed. The two were eventually separated, Guneagle nursing his pride on one side of the room and the rogue funnel being restrained by a GM on the other. Once everything was in place, Dr. Keene looked towards the window and gave thumbs up.

Kao Lyn turned on the microphone at the desk in front of the window. “Clear the red zone. We have a Gold Directive in place. Can I have a final diagnostic check?”

One of the mechanics on the Party Room floor chimed back. It took Keiko a moment to realize it was Watson, Kao Lyn’s Ball assistant. “All systems are green. Everyone on is standby.”

Kao Lyn looked at Chief Haro.

The ear flaps twitched mid-nod. Keiko swore she saw blonde. “Do it.”

Chief Kao Lyn turned back to the speaker. “Commence Operation  _Red Comet…_ now.”

Below, Keiko could see the Watson throw a switch. The lights dimmed as power from the room was taken to fuel the tremendous computers. A hum filled the air. Darkness suddenly descended before the auxiliary power switched on. The secondary lights sent the room awash in crimson. Commander Sazabi twitched. By the time the floodlights came on, the world stood still. No one moved. Keiko held her breath.

The console screen on the command station flickered.

UPLOAD: 0.26%

It would be snowing soon.

Maybe Sazabi would be around to see it.

**iii**

A thin layer of snow covered the ground on the morning after construction finished. It was as if there had never been a fire at all, a life and death struggle. Mark had the presence of mind to cover the flowers the night before to make sure they would survive. The “snow” season in Neotopia would carry on like this for a few more weeks until the weather modules were fed data from scientists to change. Too long of a cold snap, and the plants not used to the temperature would die. Too short, and the plants that needed the brief hibernation periods would get sick. Plus it was nice to see snow on the ground for Christmas. She was disappointed that it would be gone by January, if what Dr. Bellwood said about the weather institute ruling was true.

Keiko hoped Shute would be back before then. They were still in Ark fighting: him and all his friends.

(Entango had left to rejoin the fight, too. The mecha horse’s footprints in the snow showed he jumped the fence in the middle of the night. He was heading in the direction of the desert where the dimensional portal was. Tank treads in the driveway followed alongside. Gunpanzer was the one to come get him... She wished them the best.)

She hadn’t slept well. There was too much on her mind. She got up before dawn and made herself hot chocolate with peppermint, sitting alone in the living room. Mark was still asleep upstairs. The sex that night had been good, and that alone should have helped her get a full eight hours... but she had a strange dream. Keiko barely remembered it, but she recalled certain details. Nanako missing from her crib, a ransacked kitchen, a desolate ash-barren landscape outside the window—

A car pulled up outside. Keiko watched it roll carefully up the driveway, watching dazedly as she struggled to figure out who it belonged to. It wasn’t until a familiar face deposited itself onto her front lawn with a little green wagon that she recognized one of her students. Keiko was so shocked that she forgot to get up and answer the door before the bell rang. Katie Reigns was in her Neotopia Scouts uniform with mismatching mittens and pink knit hat.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ray,” Katie said seriously. She stepped aside, showcasing the wagon filled with goodies. Cookies, Christmas ornaments, Hanukkah blue and white cupcakes…

“That’s a lot of eggs,” Keiko said, smiling.

“They’re for another client.” Katie was very stern, pronouncing all her words to emulate a very grown-up manner. “I have them with me to show you that I can get you other items, other than the normal Neotopia Community Scout stock. So long as you pledge credit support to the charity I am representing, of course.”

Keiko bought some chocolate sandwich wafers for Mark and a Christmas ornament for both her children (and the Commander). They were made from recycled plastic and in different colors. White for Shute, pink for Nana, and red for Sazabi. As she pulled out her credit voucher for Katie to scan, she stopped short. “Oh! Where is the rest of your troop?”

“They’re not in my troop anymore,” Katie said. She didn’t seem bothered. “It’s okay. I had a good Hanukkah with lots of family. I don’t mind being by myself for a little while.”

Keiko felt bad. Katie didn’t have friends in her class. The other students must have felt she was too aloof, because they tended to give her a wide breadth. Katie never indicated it bothered her, but it  _did_ bother Keiko. Everyone deserved to have at least  _one_ friend. Maybe that was why Mrs. Reigns enrolled her in Scouts in the first place. Keiko paused, looking over the cart to see what else she could purchase without making it look like she was blatantly—

“You should get Mr. Sazabi a get-well card.”

Keiko froze, caught off guard. “Oh?”

Katie didn’t smile. She rarely did, but there was a twinge of  _something_ that changed her face. A smirk? Keiko wondered if she would grow up to be a sales rep or even a full-blown business woman. “I have some right here.”

The child bent over and dug through her wagon, shifting items aside as she shifted towards the bottom. It was difficult to move the items with such thick mittens. Keiko asked if she could help, and Katie declined. Finally, the young girl produced a cluster of large paper cards bound with elastic. She snapped the rubber band off, neatly placed it back in her wagon, and handed the lot to Keiko.

““My dad says cards always help.” She pointed at the stack as Keiko shuffled through them. “They’re mostly for the holidays, and very bland. Like if you have a relative you must send a card to, but don’t like them enough to send a personalized letter. There  _is_ a get-well card in there, though. I saw it four days ago.”

Katie was very blunt. For good measure, Keiko pulled aside a generic Christmas card to send to Pamela Ray. As she did, she found herself staring at a sunshine yellow smiley face and  _Get Well Soon!_ in multicolored letters. Keiko ran her hand across the surface of the card, feeling the raised words and the glossed surface. The inside of the card was blank, with plenty of room for a personalized letter.

Keiko pledged an extra thirty credits for the charity Katie was representing. It was a research foundation gearing to start civilian-level research into post-petrification symptoms. The surviving victims of bagu-bagu stings had an uncertain future, not knowing how being turned into concrete would affect them long term. Katie stiffly recited the Scouts Promise as a goodbye before shuffling through the snow back towards the car. Mr. Reigns waved to her through the dark windshield, his usually gruff appearance softened. Keiko waved back. As parents who didn’t feel compelled to pull Katie from her class after she took on the Commander, they must have understood.

The car carefully backed out of the driveway. Keiko waited for them to be out of sight before turning back into the house. The hot chocolate was lukewarm on the windowsill where she had left it, but she finished it off regardless. She reclined back in her seat setting aside everything other than the card for Sazabi. She stared at the smiling face, read  _Get Well Soon!_ over and over to herself.

Maybe if she did it enough times, it would be true.

**iv**

A bag of flour.

One dozen eggs.

A bag of peas.

A simple list. It wasn’t even one that you needed a proper slip for. Just three items, nothing fancy, nothing more. Keiko was actually glad that Mark forgot the items during his last grocery run. It would be a good test for Sazabi, to see how well he handled this new kind of responsibility. The responsibility of a short errand into the city, where humans other than the Ray family and SDG staff would be present. The responsibility of safely interacting with a peaceful society, and not stomping the closest U-C Mart to shambles.

The responsibility of not rocketing straight into space the second the Commander had his flight equipment reinstalled.

The security GM named Mac had made the jab as a joke, but Keiko felt compelled to defend Sazabi anyways. “Where would he go from there? Space doesn’t seem like much fun. There’s nothing up there for him.”

Nana must have deemed Red! as a suitable answer. She spent the next five minutes shouting it as they brought Sazabi onto one of the Blanc Base launch pads.

True to her confidence, Commander Sazabi did not peel away into nowhere once he was free to fly. She was able to relay the shopping list, and he peeled off for the clouds to test the full capabilities of his freedom. She trusted him to follow through. He was a red dot in the clouds as the SDG escorted her back to a gunperry. The fly home was pleasant. It was a beautiful late summer day, with arm sunshine and a cool breeze once they were back on solid ground. Keiko waved the pilot goodbye and watched her go as well. It was hilarious to see how carefully she flew, compared to the Commander. Sazabi had left Blanc Base doing more flips than she could count. 

She placed Nana in her activity jumper in the living room, turning on the television to one of the educational channels for young children. But there would be no easy way to make it grab her attention. Still excitable from the trip, the one-year old was bouncing excitedly in her seat and flailing her red dinosaur. “Red! Up!”

“Yes, Sazabi went up!” Keiko knelt to kiss her, checking her over. The baby squealed in joy. Being so excitable from the day’s activities was going to work up an appetite, so Keiko made sure she was secure before leaving for the kitchen. Dinner prep would be a good activity. Sazabi was going to be hungry too, chewing through his fuel reserves to get as much flight time in as possible...

The kitchen was clean, for the most part. Visually there was nothing wrong (she picked up this morning before they left for Blanc Base). Then she ran her hands across the marble counter and felt residue. Ah. Markus. Her husband must have spilled something earlier when he made his coffee that morning. There were still crumbs from his breakfast bar, too. He was running ragged with catastrophes at music studio in the city these days, so she couldn’t be upset with him. Especially after the note he left! Keiko glanced at it on the fridge.

_Oops! Just realized I forgot to pick up the groceries you wanted last night. Call me if you want me to get them after work. I’ll leave the studio early so we can go out, too! Dinner and a movie? Gator Mom can watch Nana for a few hours again, right? I love you!_

Now that Sazabi was going to get them, there was no need. She didn’t call him to let him know either way: no reason to bother him when he could get so focused on his work. Dinner would be for Sazabi and Nana then. She and Mark could go see the new Build Divers movie while “Gator Mom” babysat. Fried egg wash chicken for Commander Sazabi, and pea and carrot mash for Nanako.

The recent memory of Dr. Viola Perez, distant, standing in the middle of her kitchen came to mind. “Holding your… you let him around your child?”

The first thing was to clean the counter space. Even if she was still waiting on the ingredients from Sazabi, she could prep the space. She knelt to get the cleaning supplies out of the cabinet beneath the sink, pushing aside the drain cleaner.

**. . .**

Mark, aghast, standing in the doorway with a horrified expression twisting his face. “Keiko, he just tried to poison us!”

“Dissolve,” Sazabi corrected.

“Excuse me, what?”

“It would hydrolyze your proteins. Or better, react with your stomach acids and burn you from the inside-out.”

“That’s enough, Sazabi… Mark, put that phone down. He knows he’s asking for trouble.”

**. . .**

It was a lifetime ago, back when his “house arrest” was still a recent affair. Keiko took her eyes off him for one minute, and the Commander used the opportunity to try and poison the tomato sauce boiling on the stove top. He failed when the security bolt locked him down, causing him to splash an entire bottle of Drain Pilot’s value brand across the floor.

The last time Sazabi had used drain cleaner, it was to clear the actual drain. Yesterday, in fact!

Keiko grabbed the cleaning cloths and a light soap spray, treating the counter.

Once everything was clean, actual food prep could begin. She retrieved carrots, a cutting board, and a knife from the block holder. She didn’t feel like using the food processor right this second. Cutting the carrots and letting them get to room temperature before boiling and mashing them sounded like a good approach. She started to chop, holding the knife in her hand, noticing the rivets in the handle. It took her a minute to remember what it was from. Sazabi had used this knife before, too.

**. . .**

“Sazabi? What are you doing?”

Keiko took the knife out of his hand and felt ice cold doing it. His optic turned to follow her. She had left Sazabi alone with Nanako in the kitchen for less than a minute and had come back to find the Commander frozen in place with the largest knife in her kitchen. Standing facing the baby. Nana was none the wiser in her height chair, babbling sweet nonsense. What if the security bolt had failed to lock him down just now? What if he had...

“You keep live blades in easy reach,” was all he said.

She removed Nana from her chair, keeping her close. “Sazabi, you know you aren’t allowed to have a knife. I didn’t want to hide them, but you might give me no choice but to.”

His voice was shallow. Hollow. She felt his tone haunt her, sending a chill through her skin and down to her core. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t you get any ideas. You’re lucky you didn’t frighten Nana,” she scolded. It was the most scared she had been since taking Sazabi into her home. “What were you thinking?”

Sazabi strained his rigid joints. What surprised her, what kept her from giving up and calling the SDG to take him away right then and there, was his tone of voice. She hadn’t been able to recognize it at first, past the terror. But as she calmed down, she... heard it. Clear as the innocent glee on Nana’s face as she reached out to him without a care in the world. He was  _miserable_.

That was when she realized he hadn’t meant to imagine what he did.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sazabi’s voice was soft. He wasn’t aware of how transparent he was being.

She bet him he couldn’t him mince onions for an hour. She stood with him, unlocking his security bolt when necessary, until the Commander’s processor finally stopped registering it as a weapon.

**. . .**

Nanako squealed in delight, reacting to something on the television in the next room. Keiko came back to reality, turning the knife over in her hand. She began chopping.

A lot had happened in this kitchen. Keiko cut carrots and finished prepping what she could for her daughter. Then she went for the cupboards to fish out other necessary utensils. A skillet to fry the chicken, still chipped red on the underside where she had once struck Sazabi. He was trying to sneak up on her, likely to snap her neck when she wasn’t looking. It was their first encounter since the Horn of War. She set the rest of the ingredients by the window Sazabi once broke. That had been after she asked him to re-clean all the windows, and he shot his hand out and shattered it. She opened the dishwasher and handled one of the bowls that Sazabi once dropped, then called himself stupid over…

Keiko stopped, looking around the kitchen.

The food pantry, where she caught Sazabi desperately eating whatever he could find, to keep himself from starving.

**. . .**

_“I’m sorry.”_

**. . .**

Keiko put the meat on a cutting board, to let it reach room temperature.

Sponsoring Sazabi was never a mistake. A few times it felt like it might have been, but in the end? She couldn’t bring herself to imagine the alternative. Not because it would have meant she couldn’t punish the Commander herself, or because Robo House would have been too depressing. It was because he felt as much part of the home as the structure itself. Like the kitchen she had built with her husband and her very young son, he was a feature of the home in recent months she felt she couldn’t do without. He made his mark.

Commander Sazabi, in a strange and brazen way, had become family.

There was the sound of the sliding glass door opening. Less than two hours had passed. She expected Sazabi would have been gone for much longer, having finally gotten his wings back. She wasn’t disappointed, though. She smiled, continuing to prep food as she heard footfalls.

“Oh, that was fast. Would you get Nana, Sazabi? She was fussing for you earlier.”

There was no sound. Not even little Nanako, who was usually so quick to babble when the Commander was close. It was uncomfortable silence. It went on for too long, far too long, and she felt her gut clench. Keiko turned around and dropped the knife she was using to cut chicken. One hand flew to her mouth, the other raised in surrender.

“Two cans of gasoline,” the red Zako said. Nanako was held in the crook of one arm. The mech’s free servo held up a hauntingly familiar rifle, the same one she had seen in the book of Dr. Perez’s car. Light blood spatter, not Nanako’s, speckled the mech’s armor where it was light enough to see.

Keiko burned down her kitchen. When she begged for her daughter back, she was struck with the gun in the back of the head. It wasn’t until she felt metal hands picking her up, the tremendous crash of Sazabi breaking through the wall to escape the flames, that she realized she had been rescued. As Sazabi set her down, she saw Zako Red on top of the house, holding a finger to his vent:  _keep silent, or I will kill your offspring._

Past the smoke and the tears stinging her eyes, she could see the groceries on the grass. A burst bag of flour, a smashed carton of eggs, and a defrosting bag of peas.

**v**

Juli’s eyes lit up. “Can I sign it?”

Kai Koffee was usually busy this time of year, pumping out cup after cup of hot beverages for the citizens who frequented the downtown strip. This was especially true for the holiday season. The street itself was lined on both sides with private shops that had been there for as long as the avenue had. Keiko remembered coming here as a kid to get school supplies with her parents on more than a few occasions. Even after the Congenia Galleria was opened with three times as many stores and its own cinema, Historic Downtown remained a popular spot.

Unfortunately, the Doga Bombers from the Second Invasion had hit this section of town most hard. Even after the reconstruction efforts were finished, even though the city streets were repaved and repainted... the damage could not be undone so easily. The craters were gone but the emotional impacts remained. As Keiko turned onto the street, slush splashing underfoot, all the sidewalks were abandoned. No cars were parked in the parallel spaces. All but three stores were still closed. Kai Koffee, usually packed, only had one GM working the counter. She hoped the store she was looking for was still open.

She had almost passed Kai Koffee completely when a voice called her over. Juli from the Super Dimensional Guard and her group were the only patrons sitting at one of the outdoor tables. Keiko was compelled to convene. She hadn’t seen Juli in weeks.

That was when the grey-haired woman pointed out the card she was carrying under her arm. Keiko explained what it was for.

Juli’s eyes lit up. “Can I sign it?”

“You will?” Keiko immediately handed her the card, not expecting the other woman to be so receptive. Juli took it and produced a pen from her purse, a black felt tip.

The beautiful woman next to Juli looked just as shocked. Makeup done up like a model, thick curly hair flowing over her designer coat in billows, Luba Petrov pursed her lips. It took another second for Keiko to recognize her completely. She couldn’t believe she didn’t notice the connection between her and Juli sooner. Luba Petrov was a model, specifically for the Kycilia’s Secret lingerie company. Keiko wasn’t much of an underwear person, but she subscribed online for the women empowerment articles they published. Luba was on the magazine cover more frequently than any of the other women in the agency. Her bright red lipstick matched the kiss mark still impressed on Juli’s cheek. “You surprise me, kiska. After everything he did? No offence to present company, of course...”

Juli opened the card and paused. “It’s blank?”

“I don’t know what to write yet,” Keiko admitted. “If you sign towards the bottom, I can always fit something in later.”

Juli did just that, signing her name at the bottom in small print. Once she was finished, she looked up in time to see Luba and the other two women at the table staring at her. Alicia and Natasha were also communications officers from the SDG: Keiko had seen them up at the base when she went to visit Sazabi a few times. All three of them looked confused.

Juli must have taken offence. She frowned deep, the corners of her mouth turned low. “Sazabi saved Keiko’s baby. That’s a pretty damn good reason to sign.”

“I agree.” Luba took the card and pen from her wife, also signing. Juli stared at her with her mouth half open, and Alicia and Natasha were equally gobsmacked. Luba signed next to her wife’s name in small, elegant print. “Just because I questioned you does not mean I will not sign. The Commander threatened our lives and home, but he also took out that awful Zako Red. Our names were on that list of his. He saved your life as much as Nanako’s, kiska. I too vill sign.”

Luba passed it to Alicia and Natasha. The redhead and blonde each looked at each other in terror, then signed their first names without protest. Luba’s presence demanded commander-tier respect. Alicia had a ballpoint pen in her coat pocket, Natasha had a pencil already in hand (she had a crossword puzzle with her coffee, 08 down: the Emperor’s new clothes). It was then passed back to Juli.

“Actually…” the woman turned the card over thoughtfully, opening it and staring at the inside. “Do you mind if I take this with me? I know a few other people who might want to sign.”

“You think so?”

“The emergency team who airlifted Sazabi have been asking about him, and the surgeon who worked on him during the Black Directive... her entire department worked so hard, some of them might want to sign, too. I’ll take it back with me and we’ll see how it travels, I guess?” Juli smiled kindly. “I’ll make sure to have everyone sign on the opposite page, so you can have room to write something personal later.”

“I would appreciate that.” Keiko reached out and touched the other woman’s shoulder. “Thank you. I mean it.”

“Where are you headed now?”

“I was actually on my way to get flowers,” Keiko admitted. ”I know there’s a shop on this street, but it never occurred to me to check to see if they were open after everything that happened in September.”

“You mean Lesley’s Petals?” Alicia perked to attention. “My aunt Ella took over that place from my grandma last year. They’re still open!”

“You are on your way to get flowers?” Luba asked. She raised a brow. “For  _Sazabi?”_

“Yes.” Keiko couldn’t help but grin, realizing how ridiculous it sounded. The air was cold, but her chest warmed like the summer days she spent watching Sazabi rip weeds out of the ground. It was the kind of errand that warranted proper explanation. “Part of Sazabi’s chores at my house was to help with the gardening. He helped me plant some flowers before everything happened. I figure that if I get him something that’s  _his_ , he would appreciate it.”

The silence that swept over the group was palpable.

“Oh my god,” Natasha said. “You did make him garden? And he just— did it?”

“With a fuss, yes. He yelled at a squirrel once, and his security bolt went off when I had him mow the lawn one time. He was angry at the sun and asked me to turn it off.”

Alicia almost choked on her cappuccino. The four women at the table laughed, borderline howling. The GM working the counter jumped inside the store and almost dropped the cleaning supplies they were holding. Keiko felt her heart swell for the first time in months, remembering those summer afternoons.

The women exchanged goodbyes and Keiko left Juli with the card. She would have to think of a good note to write to Sazabi, depending on how much Juli filled the other page. Down the street on the corner was Lesley’s Petals. Ella Lesley was working the counter as Alicia said, preparing to close due to the lack of customers. At first Keiko was preparing to get a proper bouquet but stopped short when she spotted a single sunflower in a pot by the back shelves. Nestled between rows of pale gerberas, it was the one she left the store with. Its petals were as yellow as the card’s smiling face.

**vi**

Keiko woke up to the noise of someone rummaging in the kitchen downstairs. She could tell it was the kitchen because of the distinct sounds that items made when they hit the floor. A cast iron skillet, heavy and piercing. A knife, sharp and metallic. A plastic bowl, hollow and flat.

The television in hers and Mark’s bedroom was on and flashing static. They must have fallen asleep watching a movie, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember which one it was. She slowly sat up, gauging how unnatural and heavy her body felt as she reached for the remote. The buttons felt strange as she tried to turn the monitor off with no success. White and black raced across the glass screen with the hiss of electric current. Mark was fast asleep next to her, motionless and not snoring. She glanced at the digital clock on her nightstand.

00:52

Keiko stared at it for what felt like an eternity, blinking as the weight of exhaustion tried to force them closed. She was tired. So tired. Impossibly tired.

00:53

Keiko checked her phone next. The “time was the same,” locked in at fifty-three minutes on zero hours. Despite not being plugged in, the phone appeared to be charging as well. Like the time, it jumped from fifty-three to fifty-four. The display had a red hue, the distant reflection of a weak burning fire beneath its surface. Warm to the touch, finally feeling love or the first time in two hundred years.

She went to Nanako’s room to retrieve her daughter. The desire to wake her husband was non-existant. As the rummaging continued in the kitchen downstairs, there was no sense of danger. The crib was empty, but the panic that should have gripped her wasn’t there either. Nana was exactly where she meant to be, even if it wasn’t at home. She could take care of herself. She wasn’t a baby anymore. Sazabi had done well, helping to bring her up, helping her to be strong. Captain Gundam had done the same for Shute. There was no reason to worry.

The sounds from the kitchen were deafening before Keiko rounded the corner. Silence choked the greyscale atmosphere the moment it was in her line of sight. The space was deserted, empty beyond the damage caused. The pantry had been raided. Pasta shards, ripped open boxes of cereal, discarded plastic wrap for uncooked ribs, an empty bag of apples... The window was broken, smashed from the inside with a uncareful hand, confused and unable to understand. Dishes lay scattered on the floor, he thought he was so stupid for dropping them. A bottle of drain cleaner was still spilling its contents on the tile, poison shimmering in the darkness. Keiko touched the countertop to navigate. Her feet shuffled through glass, so much  _glass_... how many Soul Drives had been shattered? They were a broken dream from a world just as shattered. Thank God Captain broke the cycle. Another timeline with a dead Commander, with another ruined Soul Drive, would have been too much to bear.

When she was outside, crushed concrete was underfoot. Smoke filled her nose and lungs but didn’t suffocate. She turned to look at the house and saw the bare skeleton of her home, charred to nothing.

The drive wasn’t silent. Static gagged all the stations but one, and the windshield wipers thumped against the glass as they struggled to clear falling ash. The sky wasn’t purple like she expected, even though she could see the greyed remains of the Horn of War in the distance. Was this what happened after the invasions? The Dark Axis simply took what it could, then left the rest as a graveyard? The countryside was silent as she drove the abandoned roads, passing empty cars, but the radio continued to play. The voices were distant. Muted behind a veil.

“Ladies and gentlebots, welcome to the Zako Zako Hour! Today’s meeting is all about…”

“Too bad you don’t fight as well as you whine.”

“You’re such an incompetent moron you couldn’t even command a  _toaster!”_

“Replace the canister and— oh for God’s sake, someone get the defibrillator up to three thousand volts! The charge can’t do  _shit_ to get through this thick armor!”

“I’m calling it. This is inhumane. We can’t continue.”

“Jesus  _fuck,_  he looks like shit.”

“You should’ve seen him when he first came in.”

“Your  _Stalemate_ designation is showing. The universe for the reaping doesn’t have to be a zero sum game.”

“SHE’S BITING ME, GET HER OFF—!”

“We’re all friends! Friends living together!”

“If it’s a friend you want...” The distant sound of shattering glass. Foreign and alien. It wasn’t of this world. Fate had been altered too much, but the memory persisted. A scar tattooed on reality.

“We have no need for a ruler!” Keiko wasn’t startled by the sound of her own voice. It was comforting, knowing that her words had affected him, that he remembered.

The schoolteacher pulled up onto the curb next to a tall hill. The digital clock on her radio was at 00:75. She wasn’t alone. Past the ash and smoke, she could see silhouettes. Motionless, it took her another second to realize that they were statues. Some of people. Some of animals she had never seen before. A giant horned beast with elongated claws, a woman in a sleek jacket with a CYBERIA STATION engraved jacket, a man who’s knightly metal armor remained unpetrified…

Zako Red opened the car door for her. Keiko jumped and snapped her head around to look at him. He stared back, shivering. There was no danger– the robot wasn’t a proxy anymore. The trembling Zako soldier held out his hand to help her out.

“I’m dreaming,” she said.

“It’s a mess, zako,” Char said. “Help.  _Please.”_

He did not follow her up the hill, and she lost sight of him halfway up. He must have been too afraid to move. The thick ash choking the air made visibility non-existent. At the crescent of the hill, dozens of Axians were gathered. Dogas, Zakos, others she did not recognize. The two largest robots were Commander-class builds.

“Kikeroga,” Keiko said, even though she had never heard the name before in her life. “What’s going on? What is this?”

“Fantasy and reality. A living fossil.” The grey Axian looked down at her, flashing their optic. “Some of us are only fragments of memory, lost in this broken mosaic. Others are from the Newtype Network who feel the Commander’s struggle and have been drawn in, though they are fewer. None of them can help. None of them have been  _able_ to. The child has helped to ensure survival, encouraging the Soul Drive, but can only do so much.”

Nightingale revved her tremendous engine. “The Dark Axis is a hivemind. Nothing is more powerful than a Commander’s suffering. It is felt across worlds, entire thresholds dimensional space. We are siblings in pain.”

A hand touched her shoulder. Keiko turned and found herself face-to-face with a small woman, dressed in nurse attire. Her voice was soft. She recognized it almost immediately: Kelly Donahue, the nurse she had spoken with on the phone about Sazabi’s Soul Drive a few times. It was a lifetime ago. “Kikeroga is dead. They’re a memory of Sazabi’s. They normally wouldn’t be here, but everything is such a mess. It’s all disorganized. It’s confusing and scary.”

“This is... real? Not just a dream?”

“The Commander has been able to pull some of us into the Newtype Network to try and help him,” Kelly said. “The baby. Me. You. There might be others. Will be.”

“Help him with what?”

“Getting home.”

Kelly led her into the crater. The ground was hot and scorched, burning the ashfall to black cinder. At the very bottom of the pit was a crumpled heap. Standing over the body was a grey Doga Commando, keeping watch in silent obedience undeserving. Kneeling in front of the body was a young blonde girl that Keiko had never seen before but still  _knew_ , somehow. Just as she thought, Nanako was exactly where she needed to be. In pigtails and overalls, allowed to grow up because Sazabi both failed  _and_ succeeded. Failed to conquer Neotopia. Succeeded in rescuing her the night he crashed into the hill.

Kelly stopped halfway down, and Keiko continued the rest of the way alone. Doga Grey looked up and flashed his optic at her.

“Arrangements have been made to welcome the Commander,” he said tiredly. “Shall we move onto the final phase of the operation?”

“Affirmative,” Keiko said. “You are dismissed. Thank you.”

Kelly left with Darktide up the hill, both servants disappearing through the haze of dust. Keiko knelt next to Sazabi, beside her teenage daughter. The Commander’s raw, twisted armor was covered in a fine layer of ash like snow. She brushed it off his shoulders and face, pulling his head into her lap and stroking his fin. Through the darkness strangling the landscape, she could see the outlines of dozens of Doga Bombers watching intently, optics outlining the black it crept closer.

“Sazabi?”

He said nothing. His optic slowly panned up to look at her, shattered and blind. He started to shake.

“You’re not dying.” She placed her hand firmly on the side of his shoulder, bracing it there. His greyed armor brightened under her palm. “We found your backup. You’re being reuploaded into your body. We rebuilt it for you. So many people are riding on you coming back. I know it’s scary, but you have to trust us.”

“He  _does_ trust us,” Nanako said. She looked up at her mother. Her eyes were pink, unnatural, but the dreamscape made it seem like the most natural color in the world. “He only wanted to know that you’re  _here.”_

“I’ll always be here,” she said. “We’re all friends. Friends and family, living together.”

Sazabi’s optic pulsed faint in submission. He settled, letting her smooth her hand repeatedly over his head. Nanako reached out and touched his Soul Drive. The flame pulsed, dancing beneath the surface, activating once more with the knowledge that it was  _needed_  and  _wanted_. Home.

“Do you promise.” It wasn’t a question. Sazabi’s voice was hoarse, rattled as a component inside broke.  _“Promise me.”_

The three sat together and waited, prepared to rise from the ashes when the time finally came.

“I promise.”

**vii**

Keiko Ray did not have a good relationship with Pamela Ray and George Ray.

Mark was always apologetic about the fact. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t just fix what was  _wrong with_  their relationship. Keiko was thankful he at least made the effort. It wasn’t that she necessarily disliked her in-laws back, of course. No– it was the opposite, in context. Keiko admired Pamela’s housekeeping abilities, always ready to host a dinner party and having a contingency plan. A turkey not cooked right? It could be made into broth and there were two backup courses in the fridge. George was also an excellent grandparent in the way he was able to show genuine interest in Shute and his engineering skills. They spent a summer fixing a yacht engine for one of George’s club friends. Shute remembered it with fond affinity whenever it came up in conversation.

It wasn’t a mystery to Keiko why they didn’t get along: they seemed to think that she wasn’t  _good enough_ for their son. They would never admit it in person, it wasn’t the polite thing to do, but their scorn was blatant. Pamela had asked if her son was kidding when they announced they were getting married.

Her own parents had been much more elated. With them, she got along fine.

They were on the opposite end of the colony, almost a three-hour drive away on the northernmost outskirts. The distant oceanside ranch was on the edge of the living-zone territory, sitting on a cliff above the ocean. The smell of the Seabreeze reminded Keiko of her childhood in that house, following the fence over the cliff ledge towards the nearest meadow. It was in the non-living zone outside colony jurisdiction, but her parents used to take her out there for picnics regardless. They would sit for hours even after lunch was finished, watching for deer and other animals to pass through.

The snow was already melting, a week before Christmas. Spring was going to be even earlier than Bellwood suggested. The driveway was clear of ice as she drove up the driveway and parked, stepping outside in a light sundress. Nanako had a light sweater but fussed until Keiko relented and took it off. Eight other cars were parked in the makeshift lot next to the barn. They had never had any animals other than one horse when she was ten, but the sound of shovelling coal indicated life within. It could wait. She walked up to the house and knocked on the door.

Hitomi Abe immediately embraced her daughter when answered. “Keiko!”

“Mom,” Keiko echoed, and couldn’t stop her tears. She hadn’t seen her mother since the day after Sazabi crashed. The visit had been brief, since Pamela Ray had already hooked her son into staying with them while the house was rebuilt. “Where’s dad?”

She already knew. Satoshi Abe was in the barn workshop, plugging away at a new stained-glass window commission. Several GMs and a few humans were helping him, art students or hired staff or both. Both of her parents were artists, with her mother specializing in professional gardening and her father excelling in glasswork. Stained window production was a tradition spanning four generations in the Abe family, with her great great grandfather being a decorative windowmaker from Earth. There had never been any pressure for her to follow in her father’s footsteps, thank goodness. When she applied to college to get her teaching degree, her parents were ecstatic.

“You do what  _you_ want to do,” Satoshi said fondly, hugging his only child. “This is your life. You only get one. Make yourself as happy as possible.”

When she graduated, got married, and began helping to plan the house she would have with her husband, Satoshi gave her a stained-glass window that her grandfather had made. It had been sitting in the barn in storage for decades, collecting dust. It was their homecoming present. By comparison, Pamela made them cookies and George got them a lawnmower.

Keiko cherished the rainbow window beyond words. It was a miracle it hadn’t been damaged in the fire. When nothing remained of the front house but the bare skeleton of woodwork, it remained firmly in its frame. What was it that Chief Haro said to Zako Red, back during the First Invasion?  _We will never surrender._

Her father was quick to embrace her too, once he saw her enter the barn. He was talking with several people about coloring techniques when he saw her,  _shouted_ , and bound over to take her into his arms. Pushing seventy, he was still able to spin her around as if she were still in grade school. “I love surprise visits! Always keeping me on my toes, this one! How are you? Do you want lunch? I want lunch.”

“I missed you, too. Lunch sounds wonderful.”

The inside of the house was a maze of color and decorations, ranging from recycled artwork to traditional pieces likely given to them by friends. Pamela’s house was much more organized, but it lacked the warmth and  _life_ that Hitomi upkept. Every other window was stained in rainbow hues. Paintings, mismatched, made the colorful walls a busy mosaic. There were always new pieces going up whenever Keiko visited. The newest addition was a multicolored piece that looked like an abstract.

“This is from a new artist,” Hitomi announced fondly when they gathered in the living room. “We met his lovely friend at an art expo, at one of the Gathermoon art centers. He’s a colorblind fellow. If you look at it in a grayscale lens, it’s a group of Doga Bombers.”

Keiko admired it. “Why get it?”

“You took Sazabi into your home, and he repaid you by saving our granddaughter Nana. We would have to be foolish not to be thankful for that.” Hitomi stood up, walking over the painting, readjusting it on the wall. The more Keiko strained to see, the more she could make out the shapes representing the robots. “And after the news of that other Doga being hurt by that awful Thatcher woman? It made us think that they’re not actually bad. Whoever leads the Dark Axis is an  _awful_ sort of person, but the members of the army who might not know better... we got this as a good luck piece in honor of Shute. Maybe he can bring some of them back who want to be members of our society.”

“If we can go from a war-ravaged Earth to life here in Neotopia, there’s hope for everyone. Even the Axians.” Satoshi smiled. “If Sazabi can reform the way he did,  _anything_ is possible.”

“Red!” Nana announced, flailing her stuffed animal.

“Red is such a  _good_ color too.” Satoshi said, standing back up. “Does Nana want to try some coloring? We still have plenty of art supplies left over from when you were still our little girl.”

“I’ll always be your little girl, dad.”

“Yeah, but if I said that all the time, it would distract from the wonderful woman you’ve become.” Satoshi elbowed his wife as he walked past. “I think your mother and I did a pretty good job with you.”

Nanako was given a red marker and a piece of writing paper, the kind with the lines and binder holes. It was the same brand Keiko used in her classroom. She squealed and went to work stabbing the paper repeatedly.

They chatted about life for a while, catching up on the basics. How work had been going, what new art projects were in store for the Abe family, when their next proper family get-together with the grandchildren and Mark would be. It wasn’t until the topic shifted towards Sazabi that Keiko made her admission.

“He’s stuck at ninety-five percent uploaded,” she said. “He stopped uploading at some point last night. They don’t know what’s missing.”

“Five percent seems like so little,” Hitomi said.

“Given how long the transfer took, it could be a lot.” Satoshi set down rice balls on the table. “All his motor skills, understanding of language… it could even be his memories being with Keiko.”

It was an awful thought. Keiko tried not to think about it. “I’m going up to Blanc Base tonight to see if there’s anything I can do to help. The situation is too serious for me to sit back and not do anything. I’ve done enough of that already.”

Hitomi hesitated biting into a rice ball. Her brow furrowed. “Keiko, you can’t have that mindset. You’re not a doctor or a mechanic. There isn’t much you can do, beyond support him in recovery.”

“That’s just it.” Keiko remembered smoothing her hand across red armor, brushing away ash. “I made a promise to him recently. I have to try.”

“We’ll light a candle for you,” Satoshi said. He reached out, touching her hand. “We all rave about how he saved Nanako, but he saved you as well. You would have suffocated in the smoke, or worse. We owe him our granddaughter  _and_ daughter. Nothing we can physically give will make up for that, other than our prayers that he wakes up. Someday, maybe we can thank him in person.”

Keiko partly wished she had the get-well card with her. She wondered if anyone else had signed it. Even if Pamela and George wouldn’t have touched it, her parents would have.

“Red! Zabi! Comet!” Nana announced. All three of them looked down and stared.

“How old is Nana?” Hitomi asked. “One and a half? That’s a remarkably...  _accurate_ picture.”

Not accurate at all, and if Sazabi had heard that? He would have said something rude in retaliation. But Keiko understood what her mother meant. Nana had somehow managed to scribble a shape onto the paper with a frightening level of uniformity. Where most babies were too busy dragging crayons to the point of ripping paper, Nanako managed to draw what was no doubt Commander Sazabi. The wide body, beaked head, and distinct single eye gave it away. The young girl gripped the edge of the paper, flailing it, airing her art for the world.

Keiko picked her up and hugged her. Her parents gathered around and hugged as well. They sat in silence for a long time.

**viii**

Chief Haro’s hand was on her shoulder. “We’re going to try and turn him back on.”

Mark couldn’t be there (he was meeting an important client for work), but Keiko felt him remarkably close in spirit. She and the SDG leader both stood on observation deck looking into the Party Room below, where dozens of bodies were moving in preparation for the big event. Doctors, mechanics, and other technicians worked alongside one another in a frenzy. Elizabeth Keene was down there in the fray directing her nursing staff to triple check all the Commander’s vitals. Keiko recognized Marianne Burghs and Catherine Hodges testing the restraints on the table, ensuring sure they were properly lashes. Viola Perez, in a neck brace, was curled over a new looking laptop with several other programmers huddled around her. It wasn’t the Party Room itself that was busy, too. The observation deck was also full of bodies, SDG staff setting up shop with computers and other monitoring devices. Everyone was carrying something.

The grand finale was coming, ending months of turmoil. Whether it was a sad or happy ending was yet to be seen.

“He’s been stuck on ninety-five percent for days,” Chief Haro said. The situation had already been explained to her, but his words seemed to be for his own benefit. “It’s possible some of the data he used to back himself up has was corrupted and will no longer load into his processor the way we want to.”

“He’s in limbo,” Kao Lyn elaborated. His usually long sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders. He was sweating bullets. The temperature in the room had gone up in the past fifteen minutes for sure, but there was more than that. Keiko could see it in the usually energetic man’s posture: he was terrified. Countless hours of work had been pouredinto the Commander’s repair, and this was the final test to see if it paid off. “Five percent is an astronomical amount of data for him. If we can activate his new processor and bring him online, we may be able to determine what’s missing.

“Hopefully nothing vital,” Bellwood said. He paused, rethinking. “Actually, if it _is_ vital, we could always try and recode it ourselves. Sort of like making a prosthetic for part of someone’s brain. Freaky.”

“It may not be that easy,” Kao Lyn said. He turned to look at them for the first time in almost an hour. Moisture wicked his forehead, his glasses half-slipping off their perch on his nose. “It could also be something that a prosthetic will not cover. Decades worth of memories could make up that five percent margin, such as the memory of no longer being in the Dark Axis. He could come online and have no knowledge of the failed invasion.”

“And his weapons are… operational.” Chief Haro took his hand off her shoulder, fist clenched. She could see his hand shake. Even without a proper face to look at, she could feel the fear rolling off him in waves. “It’s a high-risk situation with too little predictability. Are you sure we can’t disassemble him again? Install another security bolt?”

Kao Lyn turned around all the way, staring at him. It was withering. Keiko felt her gut clench just seeing it, without even being under its onslaught.

Chief Haro bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I understand your concerns, but there is a moral obligation to be had. So, no. No, no, _no_. If it turns out nothing is wrong with his memory, then the presence of a new security bolt shows to Sazabi that we don’t trust him after all. After everything that he’s done and been through, that is not acceptable to me.”

Bellwood raised his hand. “I mean, we carbon-dated his oldest materials to be around two-hundred years old. Seems to me like he would have done way worse things over a longer period than the good he’s done recently. Maybe he’d understand? He might as well tell us that we’re idiots for giving him his guns back anyways. Usually I wouldn’t care, but the guy is a little too sincere.”

Keiko was caught off guard when Kao Lyn turned on the boy next. To punctuate his stare, he took off his glasses. Bellwood surrendered under it immediately.

“I sat back and did nothing when Robo House went into operation, knowing full well what the consequences would be,” Kao Lyn said. “I sat by and didn’t protest to Walker’s blatant disregard for robot-life as hard as I could have. I spent my entire life protesting injustices to delinquency, but I failed myself more in the last year than what I’m comfortable with. I’m an old man. If I die knowing that everything I fought for in my youth could be forgotten in my twilight years, I’ll be the worst kind of person. Those weapons are a part of him. It’s wrong to remove them. They stay.”

“We’ll make the best of the situation and evacuate all non-essential staff,” Chief Haro said. “Make sure the Gunchoppers and Guneagle are on standby. With Captain still in Ark, we’ll need all the Gundams on call as we can get. Keiko, I hate to ask you–”

“You want me to leave,” she said. She turned around to face him, feeling a heavy lump caught in her throat. Nana stirred in her arms. The baby, once enamoured watching all the people go by, fussed and flailed the red dinosaur toy. Zabi was looking more and more abused these days. “I won’t.”

“Unfortunately, this isn’t a request. I know you wanted to be here for any major developments but I’m afraid I have to insist.” He paused. “If you would like, I can give you a temporary assignment, so you can still help without being in harm’s way.”

As much as it pained her to leave, she was in no position to argue. She politely followed her first order as an impromptu staff member of the Super Dimensional Guard. Nana kept wanting to tug at the envelope that Chief Haro had given her, but Keiko managed to keep a firm grip. Navigating the base was easy, after all the time she had spent in it the past weeks...

She found Juli exactly where Chief Haro said she would. The recovery wing of the mech hospital was less busy than other parts of the base, but not so many people needed to be there now that Sazabi was moved. The Commander’s recovery room was a large white space with a sturdy side table and–

Keiko nearly plowed into Sayla Mass. She had been so focused on honing in on Juli across the room, she hadn’t seen the young girl carrying a slice of cake. Keiko caught her free hand on her shouldered and sputtered in apology. “Oh! I’m so sorry Sayla, I didn’t see–!”

“Oh, Keiko!” Another woman finally came into view. Mayor Margaret Gathermoon was holding a plate of rice balls. “We weren’t expecting to see you down here so soon. We thought you would be waiting for Sazabi to be turned back on...”

“I was.” Keiko looked at the rice balls balanced on Mayor Gathermoon’s plate. “Did I miss...?”

“I’m sorry, Juli told me about your card when she came into my office a few days ago, and I felt compelled to get something for the Commander as well.” The woman smiled. It was a soft and sympathetic expression. At first Keiko couldn’t pin why she was looking at her that way, but then it occurred to her: she was also worried that Sazabi wouldn’t recover. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Me too!” Sayla was already walking over to the table in the corner of the room. There was no gurney yet. Sazabi would probably be wheeled in on it later, assuming everything went the way they wanted. She placed the cake on the counter, next to– the sunflower! Keiko had it sent to Blanc Base the day earlier. Mayor Margaret set down the rice balls on the table next.

Juli walked over, holding out another familiar item. “I’ll trade you.”

Keiko gave her the letter that Chief Haro had written. In exchange, she got the Get Well Soon card. It was still in pristine condition, minus a few extra fingerprints on the glossy exterior. Without even thinking, she opened the card.

Her heart did something in her chest. It was a difficult sensation to describe. She stared at the collection of signatures. “How did you–?”

“I did a few door-to-door calls.” Juli shrugged. Another gentle smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I thought it was important to make sure all the relevant parties got their hands on it.”

Keiko traced her thumb over the paper from where she held it. “Miku and Darwin? I didn’t think Chief Haro–”

“The Chief tells me everything. I’m his head of communications, after all.” Juli winked, and Keiko imagined there was more to that gesture than she would ever know. Everything? She wondered if his secret identity was part of that knowledge package-deal. Maybe if they became better friends, she would let her in on the secret someday.

Nana was extremely interested in the card. She reached out, swatting at it in excitement with Zabi. Keiko continued reading the names. “I don’t recognize some of the others...”

“A lot of people helped behind the scenes. Some of them are Sazabi’s emergency  _Fallen Eagle_ evac team. There are more people hoping for his recovery than you know.”

The sheer size of some of the signatures was evidence of that. Kao Lyn’s name dominated a significant amount of space. Others were smaller and almost hidden in the crowd, possibly out of shyness. Viola’s own signature in pen caught her attention for that category. “I can’t thank you enough for this, Juli.”

Juli refolded the letter she had been given. She was still smiling, but the expression under the surface of her skin turned grave. No doubt she had gotten the news to initiate an evacuation announcement. “We’ll leave you alone for a few minutes. Can I get you a pen?”

That was right. Keiko’s own signature still wasn’t inside. She hesitated. “I have one in my purse. But could I bother you for some tape?”

Juli and the mayor left. Sayla stayed behind, offering to hold Nanako while Keiko added her own name to the rooster of others wishing the Commander well. The baby fussed but otherwise behaved, resorting to swatting the blonde girl with Zabi as many times as possible. Sayla couldn’t have been happier. Keiko stood over the side table with the sunflower, cake, and rice balls. The red pen was the same one she used to correct papers with. At first it took her a minute to even figure out what to say, with the amount of space left on the card. Thankfully everyone who signed was considerate enough to leave her space on the left inner-fold...

She hesitated.

“Mrs. Ray?”

“Yes, Sayla?”

When Sayla did not immediately reply, Keiko turned her head to look back at her. She and the baby were watching her intently, the latter with a stunning level of focus. Sayla herself seemed deep in thought, too. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. “Do you not know what to write?”

She did, which was half the problem. There was too much to put to paper. She gripped the pen harder in her hand. “What if what I write is the last real thing I ever get to say to him?”

Sayla Mass was an extremely smart girl. Back when Keiko taught first grade, Sayla had been in her class. She was bright despite some vision problems and an unawares-nature that made other students dismiss her. Shute was having trouble making friends in his own class across the hall, so Keiko was quick to introduce them. Sayla was incredibly observant and able to read into people better than she let on. That edge in empathy made her the kind of person you couldn’t hide anything from. She knew why Keiko was worried. There was no reason for her to ask.

Still, she smiled.

“Even if it is...” she trailed off.

Sazabi had slammed himself into the hill knowing full well that he would not walk away. It was an act he felt he had to do, and there was a respect to that Keiko hadn’t imagined before. He did it to prove his worth, and the worth of Neotopia, to his former superior. Living under her roof had given him whatever insight he needed to do this. To prove he was better than what he was on the Horn of War.

Sayla didn’t have to say anything else to make her see that.

Keiko wrote three paragraphs and one line. She signed it from herself, Mark, and Nanako. When she was done, she used the piece of tape given to her to attach the drawing Nana did at her parents’ house. She stood the card up and arranged the table as nicely as she could.

An announcement rang over the intercom. Juli’s voice came through as clear as if she were still standing next to her.  _“Attention non-essential staff and visitors: please report to the bridge. A security lockdown will be in effect starting in fifteen minutes. Please report to your nearest communication hub for further instruction. Thank you.”_

Sayla stood up, bringing Nana back to her mother. Keiko took her and balanced her in the crook of her arm. “Mrs. Ray? Are you coming?”

She hesitated. “Not yet. I have something else I have to do.”

Sayla Mass left with a skip in her step. Nanako looked up at her mother and gave her a hearty slap with Zabi. “Red!”

“Yes, Nana.” She kissed her daughter. “Red.”

**ix**

She had three separate encounters on her way back to the Party Room.

The first one came as she entered the robotics department. Other bodies were filing past, consisting of dressed staff members. Anyone who wasn’t immediately required for Sazabi’s reactivation was leaving for the bridge. No one questioned her walking towards the Party Room, though. Maybe it was the sense of dread hanging in the air. The notion that Sazabi could be reactivated without certain core memories was a frightening thought. His destructive power fully armed on the Horn of War wasn’t to be ignored. Turning the Commander back on in his repaired state would be nothing short of disastrous if he didn’t remember–

She bumped into a man in a white coat who had stormed around the corner. Keiko thankfully caught it in the arm that wasn’t holding her daughter. Nanako cried out and almost dropped Zabi. The man recoiled, looking down at her with the hardest set of blue eyes Keiko had ever seen. That was when she recognized him. She didn’t need to see the cast still on his hand.

“You,” he said.

“Dr. Reichold?” Keiko hadn’t seen him since that emergency meeting weeks earlier. How long had it been? She honestly couldn’t remember. She wouldn’t have recognized him if it wasn’t for the sudden face he made. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see–”

“You’re making a mistake,” Reichold hissed. The words came out venomous and snakelike. There was no warmth in his voice. “You’re going to regret this.”

Keiko knew about what happened to Dr. Nicholas Walker. With the SDG in the spotlight as often as it was, there was no avoiding the news reports detailing how one of Sazabi’s own doctors committed suicide. While she felt bad about the other man’s death, there was something about his and Reichold’s interaction in the emergency meeting that made her skin crawl after the fact. She knew Reichold wanted Walker’s position. Something about him seemed wrong to her. Nanako must have felt it too, because she started to fuss. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

It wasn’t the answer Alexander was looking for. They were the same height, but she could feel that he was trying to tower over her. It was the same bullying tactic she saw on the playground at school. “How many more humans need to be hurt before you people realize that machines aren’t our friends.”

As a schoolteacher, Keiko knew how to shut this behaviour down immediately. She lowered her voice. “We’re all friends in Neotopia, whether you believe it or not. We have no need for a ruler to tell us otherwise.”

“I don’t have time for this.” He brushed past, careful to deliver one last shove. “You’ll get yours, woman.”

Nanako screeched after the man.

The second interaction wasn’t even in-person. As she passed the hangar with the Re-Equip Ring, her cell phone started to ring. She answered it without a second thought, thinking it was her husband without checking the caller ID. “Yes?”

_“Traitor.”_  It was a woman’s voice on the other end. Keiko recoiled and checked the phone number. RESTRICTED.

“Who is this?”

As quickly as the call came, it ended. The phone clicked on the other end and the dial tone filled the empty space. Keiko tried to trace the number while she leaned up against the wall in the hallway, but it finally came up on search as being a payphone. She turned off her cell phone and dropped it back into the tomb of her purse. Her hand shook. No one from the anti-Sazabi side of Neotopia’s population had ever tried to call her like that before.

Keiko went to leave the lab. Down the stairs, to the right, she saw a familiar body. Her third and final interaction on her way to the Party Room was a much-needed friendly face. Renee Clarke was standing by the lowermost door to go into the lab, texting on her phone. Keiko had only met her in person once before. Her name was one of the signatures in the card. “Renee?”

“Keiko!” Renee jumped to her feet, pocketing the phone. She hadn’t hit send on the text yet. “It’s good to see you! What are you doing down here?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“I’m on standby,” she said. The one-eyed woman grinned and flexed open part of her jacket. A little SDG staff card was inside. “You know. In case an engineer is needed. After all the work I’ve done with Tango, I got an official title of being in the Axian Operations division.”

“How is...?”

“He’s... nervous.” Renee sheepishly reached back into her pocket, finally hitting send on her text. “I sort of tried to hide from him what I was doing today, but I think he know’s. The whole low-key hivemind thing is strong with those guys. Five percent is a lot of data to be missing, but ninety-five is still massive by itself. Even if part of the Commander’s head is shot, the Newtype Network must definitely be online.”

Both women stood in silence.

“So,” Renee said. “Sneaking in, huh?”

“You’re one to judge,” Keiko said.

“Who said I was judging?” The short-haired woman grinned. It was the toothiest smile she had seen on any one person that whole day. “I know when I’m guilty. There’s no point in denying anything. Delinquency needs to stop being framed as always being a bad thing.”

“How did you even get in to see Tango?” Keiko rocked back on her heels, bouncing Nana. “I wasn’t going to go to the bridge for the evacuation, but I know Chief Haro will kick me out of the observation deck the second he sees me.”

Renee was grinning like her students the day before winter break. She moved over to the door and gestured to it. “I hacked the keypad to get inside. It’s easy if you know what you’re doing. Blanc Base is high tech, but workarounds exist if you know what to look for. I could show you.”

“That would be nice,” Keiko said.

**x**

When the evacuation was done, half of Blanc Base’s residents were redirected to the uppermost floors away from the mechanics department. Gunperries sat on standby, engines warmed up and ready to begin a mass exodus if the worst were to happen. There was no worry about anyone walking back towards danger. That would be ridiculous. Who would do that?

As the last of the security GMs finished their sweep, Keiko stepped out from the broom closet Renee had shown her. She walked down the hallways, unopposed, back to the door Renee had shown her. She removed the keypad and did exactly as she was told to rewire it open (and one-handed, no less). It let her in without protest or alarm. There were two separate security barriers, intended to keep anyone born in the Party Room contained. No Gundam created by Kao Lyn had ever had a negative reaction to being born, of course... but being safe was being better than sorry. For once, the extra security served a purpose. Keiko hacked the next checkpoint using the same trick as before.

“Red,” Nanako said.

The door opened, and no one in the viewing theatre above noticed. They were too transfixed on whatever preparations they were taking. No humans were in the room, but Keiko recognized Guneagle standing behind a computer station with his gun drawn and the safety off. The sight made her stomach sink. There was little doubt in her mind that the Gunchoppers were nearby, too. Apart from the Gundams, the space was empty minus the towers of equipment and the table in the center where Sazabi was propped. Strapped down with chains. Again: better safe than sorry. There was no fooling around with something as dire as this particular wake-up call. 

Keiko stuck close to the wall, shifting behind a large computer, just watching.

“...up and functional,” a voice over the intercom said. “Ready to begin the restart routine. Standby.”

The room was silent. Keiko watched carefully.

Chief Haro’s voice was stern. “At the first sign of trouble, you all know what to do. Start it.”

Power fluctuated. The lights flickered. There was a hum from the machines behind Commander Sazabi, and the mech twitched. Keiko felt like she was watching something straight out of _Frankenstein_. The collective hum grew in intensity and she ducked low when Nanako started to fuss. The sound drowned her daughter out. The hum turned into a roar, into a _scream_...

The noise died down all at once. At first, Keiko thought there might have been some kind of error causing the startup process to fail. The lights stopped flickering. Commander Sazabi did not move.

And then he did.

The mech’s chest heaved with a manual intake. Robots did not breathe, but their vents could flush with air and give the impression of a gasp. It happened once. Twice. Three times in, and they finally started to regulate. The red body shifted, those intense blasts of air disturbing the silence. You could hear a pin drop. The buzz of the intercom revealed that they were still online, but no one was brave enough to speak.

Sazabi’s huge head lifted. Top-heavy, it lolled to one side. The optic rolled and then calibrated at a dim glow, rising and scanning the room slowly.

“Red!” Nanako yelped.

There was still no sound, but Keiko swore she heard _Mark_. A sharp intake of air that sucked the oxygen out of the room, temporarily silencing the static on the intercom, that sounded exactly like her husband. She wished he was here. She hadn’t been lying that night on Neotopia’s south tower when she said it was difficult not having him around for such a disaster. Sazabi’s optic snapped in her direction. There was the sound of a small engine, so small, and the funnel was in front of her face. Across the room she could see Guneagle reach a hand up to his face to cover his mask. His optics were bright in horror from his hiding spot. He didn't dare move.

The funnel did not fire.

Keiko emerged from her hiding spot, carrying Nanako close. Terrified whimpers over the intercom. The funnel followed briefly, then darted ahead and lowered itself next to its host as a guard.

“Sazabi?”

The Axian’s optic apertures adjusted. He stared and was silent, head tilting. There was no fire in his optic. Just quiet observation, a tired presence. “Oh. Hello.”

Kao Lyn made a _noise_.

Keiko froze. She felt her limbs lock up. Her chest felt cold. After not hearing his voice for so long, suddenly hearing him speak was a shock to her senses. “Sazabi? Are you alright?”

The huge Axian blinked slowly, dimming and relighting his optic. His helm tilted again. It was strange listening to him talk in such a quiet, subdued tone. Something was immediately sending her perception of him amiss. At first she couldn't tell what it was, but then it became clear. “Are you speaking to me? Who is Sazabi?”

Her heart sank.

“That’s your name,” Keiko hesitated. Of course. It was too good to be true. They had reactivated him, but the transfer hadn't worked the way the hoped. The element that made Sazabi himself, his memories, was too damaged for recovery. Barely clinging to hope, she edged closer. Sazabi did not react. Nor did he protest as she reached a hand out. She touched his hand. The more she thought about it, the more she realized how little physical contact she had ever had with the mech. Yes, there was the one time strapping him to the roof of her car after one of his botched escapes, but this was... different.

As her fingers graced over his fingers, she was surprised when he didn’t immediately reel back. She was even more surprised when he slowly – weakly – turned his palm over started to grasp _back_. The touch was insanely gentle. 

There was another sound over the intercom. Viola Perez, her voice trembling. “Ninety-six percent. The upload is resuming…? The equipment is mapping– his memories _are_ loading now. Just now.”

Sazabi turned his head in the direction of the sound. The aperture in his optic was dilated, struggling to adjust. Noises whirled inside his head beneath the armor.

“Oh. Yes.” He revved. “I think I remember that now. Sazabi. But you’re not the one from the dark. Your voice isn’t the same.”

“The dark…?”

“I wanted him to make me perfect,” he said. Sazabi paused. “I… feel very strange. I am not fully operational.”

His hand squeezed a fraction tighter. It was hard to imagine it was the same hand that went through four boxes of pencils in three days. Or the same hand he had tried to poison her dinner with. “Kao Lyn said this would probably happen. You hit your head so hard, they had to script and give you an entirely new processor. They’re still trying to salvage your memories. They’re even working on it right now...”

“I hit my head?” Sazabi’s voice was so different. Younger. Softer. It was amazing how much pent-up anger and resentment could change how his voice came through. “Did I hurt myself saving Nanako?”

“Ninety-seven percent.” Elizabeth Kenne, the surgeon. “Watch his stats.”

“You hurt yourself very badly, yes.” Keiko offered, smiling as gently as she could. Could he still recognize her facial expressions? “You saved Nana when that awful red Zako took her away. You got her to safety and then took on an entire platoon of soldiers. You crashed.”

“Oh.” Sazabi paused thoughtfully. He sagged slightly, rolling his optic up to look at the ceiling. “I don’t think I crashed. I think I did that on purpose.”

Keiko felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “You did?”

“I was forcing myself to go up... or maybe it was down? I didn’t think anyone would miss me.” Sazabi looked back at her. “I wanted to show… him? What he had wasted. I don’t remember what it was. My head hurts.”

“Maybe you wanted to show him you were worth more than what he thought.” Keiko had to struggle to keep her emotions in check. Her smile thinned with straining effort. “Why would you think no one would miss you? Of _course_ people would miss you. You’re a good person.”

“I don’t feel like a good person,” Sazabi offered, focusing his optic. He looked like he was struggling to think, and that alone seemed to be physically draining him. The Axian seemed more and more exhausted as the conversation drew on. “I think I might be a really bad person. My chest keeps aching just thinking about it.”

“Ninety-eight percent.”

It was a delicate situation. Keiko stopped, mulling over an explanation in her head, before speaking up. “Maybe I should rephrase that. You’re a good person, but you did do bad things. Horrible things, even. Doing only one or two good things won’t make up for it, but that’s okay. Just because you did bad things doesn’t make you bad forever. It just means that you have to try a little harder than everyone else to try and atone for your wrongs. You’re a good person who can learn to be even more good. When you saved Nana, you took a step in the right direction. You’re her hero, you know. She drew you a picture.”

Nanako flapped her arms. She had been very quiet this whole time, eyes locked onto the Commander. The Axian locked gazes on her and they both did not move.

The Soul Drive started to flash, the flame within growing.

Sazabi didn’t answer for a long time. At first, Keiko was afraid he had gone back to sleep... but then he sighed heavily and tugged on his restraints. Keiko moved to free the arm he was pulling on. She could see Guneagle from behind the computer station still, now flanked by one of the Gunchoppers. She must have been an expert at this sort of thing, because she was able to pull on the leather straps and release his wrist. Looping one of the chains off was all she needed to do before Sazabi took care of the rest. He yanked his arm free and shakily brought his free hand to his face. He covered his optic, starting to shake, a whine rising up from his throat.

Keiko didn’t think it was possible for Axians to cry.

“I’m so _sorry.”_ Sazabi’s voice was watered and shook with effort, on the verge of cracking. He sounded even younger. “I don't even know what I did, and I’m _sorry_. Please…”

“Shhhh— oh god, Sazabi, _it’s okay...”_ Keiko felt her heart clench. She stood up, leaning over the gurney as best she could, and hugged him around the top of his head. He turned his helm into her body. She could feel him shaking, armor rattling. “We gave you a chance to start over. Someday you’re going to be the best kind person I know you can be. We all do, even if not everyone shows it. You saving Nana just proves you’re going to do great things.”

Sazabi didn’t answer for a long time. His shaking intensified and another deep, pathetic sound wrenched itself free from his vocalizer. Keiko wondered if Axians could shed proper tears and doubted it. She could hear his Soul Drive whirling faster inside his chest, starting to offer a rising glow through the newly installed light windows...

His Soul Drive activated. The room illuminated. It wasn't at all like the light that Captain shed. It was _brighter_. 

“Ninety-nine percent…”

“I don’t understand,” he said finally, voice cracked. “I just... I don’t understand.”

“In Neotopia, we have no need for rulers. We’re all just friends living together, and you have friends. Nanako. Me…” She squeezed his hand. “Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” He sucked hard on an intake again. And then he reached up with his hand again, sobbing into his palm.

“One hundred percent.”

The Commander’s kinetics locked. A tremor worked up his back, more powerful that the ones previous. When the light of the condensed sun in his chest died away, he had gone limp once more. His hand fell away from his face. Across the room, funnel dropped to the ground with a heavy thud.

“Systems are stable. Everything scans normal. It’s a hard reboot. We got him…”

There was no cheering. Keiko stood up, holding Nanako close as she leaned down and kissed the Commander on the side of the head. The baby had fallen asleep as fast as Sazabi had. She left the room, already hearing the commotion in the viewing room above. Haro was going to give her a stern talking to. She was surprised when it didn’t come. The man threw himself at her and took her into a hug.

Then she felt her heart lurch in her throat. Her hands flew to her mouth. She leaned against the leader of the SDG and slumped down in his arms, crying.

Even when Sazabi remembered nothing else, he remembered Nanako.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**[And then he woke up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7929382/chapters/18142381).**

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Suddenly love, like the sea,**

**invades my heart and soul and it will save me.**

**And it will be natural, how to breathe.**

**And it will be true love that heals the heart.**

**Light inside me will be born.**

_All Improvviso Amore_ \- Josh Groban

 

 

 

 


	20. EPILOGUE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**5 YEARS LATER**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**i**

**Bianca Fitch**

The time? The not so distant future. A golden age of robotics.

The place? Neotopia. A not-so-lonely city stationed on the colony-planet Neos II, home to the human and mechanical descendants of planet Earth.

The disaster? Catastrophic. They were going to have trouble weaselling their way out of this one...

She had been in this same position before, when she was four. The end of the world was coming, and she was away from the safety of home. Five years earlier she wanted to go for an evening stroll in Peace Park with her pink Roller Buddy. It was a short walk from her house. Mom and dad went out for dinner and the babysitter fell asleep. No one would mind her being gone for a few minutes, for sure. The Roller Buddy keeping her company had was gifted to her a few months prior. The robotic AI wasn’t particularly advanced, designed to be no smarter than the old family dog Flower replaced, but she loved her all the same. They would play Tea Party, the Pretty Princess Game, hide-and-seek...

When she snuck out of the house was the same night the Control Horns came down. The First Invasion by the Dark Axis had begun. Flower had been tagged and nearly squashed under the horn’s weight. Bianca was so scared. She wanted her mom and dad. She wanted to go  _home_.

Then that boy saved her. Ten years old, and Shute Amuro Ray was a hero to Neotopia.

Bianca was turning ten in a week. It was August, and Neotopia was throat-first in the talons of an enemy once more. The Dark Axis wasn’t the only interdimensional threat with pull, but she wasn’t going to find herself intimidated.  _Shute_ hadn’t been. Being weak in front of the bad guys when you had your home to protect wasn’t an option. She once again snuck out of her house, squeezed past the quarantine checkpoint on her skateboard, and took a maintenance tunnel around the perimeter of the city until she found an exit into Peace Park. Grownups were so easy to trick, sometimes. No wonder Shute had been able to become a hero so easy! She wondered what he was doing now. Probably gearing up to be a hero again. Captain Gundam could beat anyone, and wherever  _he_ went? Shute was with him.

(Neotopia was home to a lot of heroes, recently.)

Flower flailed her arms inside the safety of her backpack. The Roller Buddy wasn’t as quick on her wheels as Bianca was on the skateboard, so she got to ride in style! The electric beeping caught Bianca’s attention and she skidded to a stop. She kicked the back end up the skateboard up, so she could catch it. She turned around and realized what the problem was. “Hey you guys! Hurry up!”

All three Zakos were exhausted. They finally caught up and Widget fell back on her aft in in defeat. Flip fell to his knees and flopped face first into the grass. Tap braced his servos on his knees, breathing heavily—

“Hey! You guys don’t even  _need_  to breathe,” Bianca said. She signed as she spoke.

Tap was already signing back, unable to bring himself to speak yet.  _Overheating! Not meant for running._

“We ought to invest in heelies,” Widget said, hissing steam.

Peace Park was abandoned. The usually pristine landscape was left unkempt in the three days since the disaster started, though. A nearby recycling truck had crashed into a post outside the park, spilling its load and causing trash to drift over the unmowed grass. Newspaper, bio-degradable plastic bottles, cardboard… they rolled across the park like urban tumbleweeds. Only a few of the street lights were still working above the asphalt walking path, a result of the energy-drain being put on the city by the alien device threatening them. A child’s stuffed dog was lying in the grass closest to her foot, soaked from the rain they had the day before. She picked it up, turning it over in her hand before shoving it into her coat pocket. She would find who it belonged to, one way or another. That kid was going to get their toy back the same way she managed to get Flower back from the Control Horn... 

Tap looked up in time to see Widget’s vents moving, but not her hands. He smacked her arm.

Widget first signed  _sorry_ , repeating what she said in NSL. Her hands punctuated the word  _heelies_.

“Yeah, sounds about right, zako.” Tap looked at Bianca. The deaf mech pulsed his optic. “Sorry, I’m heads up now.”

Bianca signed as she spoke. “We need to keep going, you guys! You saw the news, there are still people trapped in buildings hiding. We gotta make sure everyone is okay!”

“This is crazy, zako,” Tap said, a fraction too loudly. “Can’t the SDG do that? I know I’ve said it a hundred times—”

“The Gundam Force is too busy fighting the bad guys to necessarily help the people hiding. So it’s up to people like us who aren’t scared to go in and make sure they have what they need!” Bianca started ticking away on one hand, short-hand signing for Tap’s benefit with the other. “Water, food, blankets—”

Flip whined, a high-pitched whimper. All three of them looked down at him. The youngest of the Zakos was the most freshly painted, one of the units found and activated post-war. As the kind of mech who had never seen combat in his life, this was especially terrifying for him. Bianca couldn’t help but feel a little bad.

“I want to go back,” Flip said, signing at the same time. The janitor’s voice codec was cracked in terror.  _“Look_ at that thing! We’re just Zakos!”

“You want  _tacos?”_ Tap tilted his head. Flip hadn’t signed correctly.

Flip grabbed a handful of grass and threw it at Tap. The blades fluttered uselessly.

The monster device looming above Neotopia crackled with electric energy. Its surface lashed with occasional lines of lightning. Golden and maybe even a little beautiful, there was no denying the warping effect it was having on the top spires of Neotopia Tower. The metal was becoming bent by a spacial anomaly, twisting to a discernible angle. How much longer would it be before the effect reached the ground and spread outward? Would it consume the city like the emergency broadcast warned? Would it kill anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in its path, unable to escape?

“There are still people trapped in the city who might need our help!” Bianca pointed Neotopia Tower with one hand, and the looming danger above it. “When I was little, Shute helped to save Flower. Then he helped to save me from the bagu-bagu.  _Then_ he helped saved the city. He did that when he was my age! I want to do my part too, and I even have my own group of robot friends to help me!”

Widget raised her servo.

“Yes?”

“Gundams.”

“Huh?”

Flip nodded, fumbling to sign. The Zakos were getting better at reading human facial expressions, and he must have noticed how her brow turned down. “Yeah! The human boy’s friends were all Gundams! Not even normal Gundams, zakos. Real heavy hitters! A knight, a samurai, and the guy who beat the  _Commander._ ”

All three Axians shuttered in distress.

Flip resumed when they were done having their collective terror-episode. He was still shaking. “We’re just weak little Zakos, zako. We’re not good for anything unless we’re in a horde. Three of us can’t do anything.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Bianca smiled. “You’re my friends. It doesn’t matter if you’re not Gundams! We work well as a team, exactly as we are.”

“Even after everything we did?” Tap asked. He didn’t sign, this time. His own question hadn’t been directed to her. “The Dark Axis?”

It occurred to Bianca the bleak undertone the conversation had taken. She knew her friends felt inadequate next to the formidable Gundam Force, but there was also the underlying issue of their origins. Widget and Tap were from the First Invasion, aboard the  _Magna Musai._ They had followed the Commander back to Neotopia to try and fix what they had done, either out of fear of their leader or a genuine desire to do good. The horrors of what they had seen -  _done_ \- in that slave army would stay with them forever. As they became friends with their new human companion, the guilt of what they had nearly done to destroy Neotopia weighed heavy.

“The Dark Axis is gone,” Bianca said, punctuating  _gone_  as she signed. The gesture was sharp and concise. “They don’t matter anymore, and Neotopia is still in danger. This place is your home as much as mine. I want to share it with you, and I want to do what I can to protect it. You’re not just friends anymore. You three are  _family_. You guys don’t have to come, but I’m going ahead to protect what I love. That’s what Shute did. So I’ll do it, too.”

All three Zakos said nothing. They looked at each other, pulsing their optics. Bianca wondered if they were truly stunned into silence or debating over their Newtype Network.

“No. We’re still coming, zako,” Widget said. She turned back to Bianca and saluted, a formal and militaristic stance. Her vents twisted into what could have been a smile. “You’re a convincing leader. You keep giving us chance after chance to prove ourselves, even when we doubt ourselves and slow you down... so we’ll continue give Neotopia the chance it deserves, too. Zako.”

“I’ll take getting beat up protecting something over destroying it,” Tap said, when he was sure Widget was done. He hesitated... then offered a thumb up. “We’re not Gundams, but if you believe in us, we’ll follow you wherever.”

“I like being the Good Guys, zako,” Flip said.

Flower beeped rapidly, flailing her arms excitedly.

An explosion rang clear through the air. The zakos flinched, but otherwise did not cower. Bianca turned back towards the city to see an explosion bloom on top of the alien device hovering above the city. Shute was up there. She could  _feel_ it. While he took the high road, she would take low. Someone had to have his back, after he had hers all those years before.

Widget’s voice was firm with renewed Determination. “Orders, squadron lead Bianca?”

She grinned.

“Zako Force,  _let’s roll!”_

**ii**

**Bakunetsumaru**

The more things changed...

He couldn’t remember where he heard the phrase exactly. It was Neotopian in origin, so he likely heard it over a conversation at one of the Ray family’s many barbeques. Exactly where he picked up the idiom didn’t matter because Ark had its own: “every new warlord brings the same war.”  _That_ he had learned from his father a decade earlier, before Asahimaru left to fight as a hired sword for a mech named Sousou. A conflict in the neighboring country of Mirisha was going to spill into Ark if it wasn’t stopped. He was honor-bound to accept the payment, he said. He left their estate riding his prized stallion Funnsaiki. Bakunetsumaru was still a sparkling. He and his mother never saw Asahimaru again. Word later came to them in rumor that he had died fighting alongside the Anti-Totaku Alliance outside the Korou Fortress.

The loss of his father was what inspired him to become a samurai, too. Once he was of age, Bakunetsumaru left home on Funnsaiki’s only sired colt: a young stallion his mother named Entengo.

Becoming a samurai was a double-edged sword. On one side, there was great honor in becoming a warrior. He was gifted one of Ark’s Five Sacred Swords in his Master Sekihamaru’s  _Tenkyoken,_ a blade once only spoken of in myth. He had a matching katana made to be its sibling, cast using metal of one of his father’s own swords. He excelled alongside his fellow student Kujakumaru. He quickly became a beacon of hope in his kingdom, vanquishing enemies and doing what was just for the people.

On the other, the Blazing Samurai bore witness to the horrors that could be done to his homeland by others, all for mindless greed. Serving under Buritenmaru, he had seen many warlords who tried to rise to power thankfully fail. The urge to bring  _justice_ on the spawns of evil taunted him, but at every turn there were always the bodies of those he could not save. Men, women, children...

Every new shogunate imposter brought the same terror. War? War never changed—

The hammer came down again, and both Bakunetsumaru and his companion scattered to avoid being crushed. If the weight didn’t kill them, the enchantment attached to its downward swing would have done serious damage. Zero cast a protective prism of light around them as the magical shockwave tore past. The wind howled. The Winged Knight of Lacroa was shaking with effort, unable to maintain the aura for long before it disintegrated.

“Bakunetsumaru! Are you alright?”

“Yes, Zero! I’m fine—  _watch out!”_

The newest volley sent them both flying backwards, this time from the swing of a poker lance. The tipped blade missed gauging Bakunetsumaru in the soulstone by centimeters. He felt himself break into a cold sweat. Both he and Zero skidded on the pavement with a crash, the latter too weak to stay airborne. It was the same road as the last time they fought like this, side-by-side without aide from the others. The same time of night. The same crushing weight on their shoulders. Distant screams and echoed explosions rose from the direction of the city, once again a living hell in the face of an enemy.

It was the Dark Axis invasion all over again.

“Some things never change, old friend,” Zero said. He summoned his buster sword back into his trembling hand. Fenn was not there to aid him and his new Cyclone Forme was damaged. A deep gash ran length from his shoulder to his gut. His frame sparked with the strain being put on his joints. “The more things change...”

Bakunetsumaru poised his swords. There was no ultra-powerful Bakushin Armor to summon. Not even Entengo to serve as his steed, to give him an edge. He twitched the claws of his equally scarred Beast Forme. The armor had also given him extra abilities, but in the faces of their newest opponents? It wasn’t enough. It _couldn’t_ be. He gritted his dentas behind his mask. “The more they stay the same.”

_Every new warlord brings the same war._

Their newest warlords in question hovered before them, gearing for the next round. They were also damaged, but not to the point of collapse as Bakunetsumaru would have preferred. They were faces that he had hoped to never see again, too. The Arkbound Destructive Diashogun slashed his poker lance across the air as the length drew back towards him. Steam was still rising off his armor, the ground at his pedes soaked from where Zero had forced him out of his Super Bathhouse module. How utterly ridiculous it was that he would even go around  _like_  that, armor folded up to house water.

“You will pay  _dearly_ for that, knight.” Hakaimaru narrowed his optics, pointing his weapon at Zero. “I had been  _enjoying_ that soak.”

“And  _you_ will pay for taunting us with such a ridiculous gimmick a second time!” Zero twirled the Vatras Buster sword, pulling it back in a threatening gesture. “Was your defeat at the hands of mere Zako soldiers not enough? En garde, fiend! We will never submit to the likes of you!”

Both he and Bakunetsumaru had to dodge the enchanted hammer that came down a second time. They were so tired, they hadn’t recognized Da Jarle’s motion to swing until it was almost too late. The Lacroan warlock and Knight of the Hammer was still in the fight after all. The sorcerer seethed beside his comrade, shaking in poorly contained rage as his weapon returned to normal size. “You will suffer for embarrassing me in that way, the great Da  _Jarle!_ Those Zako soldiers were lucky to have so many allies at their side. Now that we have you alone, no one can save you!”

“Why even assist the space pirates?” Bakunetsumaru, though it was never his place, found himself trying to  _reason_ with the two fools. It was truly a cold day in the samurai’s life when he was reduced to such an embarrassment. But Zero was struggling. How much longer could the wounded knight endure this battle’s onslaught? The notion of his friend - his foolish knight - being  _hurt_  was becoming a frightening reality. He had to stop this. If not with his blades, then with his words. He had to  _try_. “There is no Zakorello Phone for you to steal. Chibirello and his father have been gone for years, and what of your efforts to unify Ark and Lacroa under your banner? How can you do that when the creature you serve strives to absorb all our worlds and  _destroy_ them!?”

“The sponsor of our joint campaign should not concern you,  _boy,”_ Hakaimaru said bitterly. “Yes, it is true the interdimensional alien wants to absorb our worlds. But the copies he creates in his image will still be suitable replacements. We will unify  _those_ versions of Ark and Lacroa, bend them to  _our_ vision as we see fit.”

“They will be much easier to conquer, too.” Da Jarle was vibrating, giddy with excitement. “We will rule as emperor kings, side-by-side!”

Reasoning with the sorcerer like this would be impossible. Bakunetsumaru kept his optics trained on Hakaimaru. Behind and beside him, the Blazing Samurai could feel the Zero waning. The mech had taken a knee. The Vatras Buster sword was still raised in a valiant display of defiance, making the stance appear defensive, but the samurai knew better. His partner was teetering on the edge of consciousness. “Lord Hakaimaru, you and I both know that conquering a false image of our homelands not be the same. You and your— lover— deserve better than that. Surrender and join us in defeating this menace, and you can live to unify countries another day! Maybe even peacefully!”

Da Jarle made a  _sound_. Hakaimaru went rigid, gripping his poker with enough force to make metal groan. Zero snapped his head around to look at Bakunetsumaru with wide optics.

The Diashogun imposter shook. “How—”

“You regard your companion with the same respect I regard Zero. We are both twins in honor when it comes to protecting those we hold dear.” Bakunetsumaru stood up, doing something he never would have done five years earlier: he dropped both his swords. Tenkyoken and its ordinary twin tumbled to the pavement. He sheathed his Beast Forme claws and extended a hand. “Ark has been known for its power struggles. Lacroa is also known for its misguided view of mecha as subservient to the humans. I see  _why_ you both fight. You wish to unify our countries for reasons other than greed. So Da Jarle can come into the light rather than hide, like Lord Talgeese once had to. So Ark can be a safe haven rather than a feuding collection of kingdoms. I can only imagine the pain you felt, being driven from your home due to war. You are both formidable adversaries who could be greater allies. Please reconsider this dark path and adjust before you doom us all!”

Even Da Jarle wasn’t moving. The sorcerer shook, turning to his companion in a sudden twist of his torso. “Hakaima—”

“NO!” Hakaimaru drew up his poker, optics narrowed in anger. The irises burned with fury. “I will not let you tempt me with false hopes. You understand  _nothing!_ Our struggle is beyond you who is without it! And to punish you, I will give you something to suffer over— starting with the destruction of  _your_ Lacroan!”

That lance shot out, extending so fast, too fast. It took Bakunetsumaru a moment to realize it was headed straight for Zero. The imposter Diashogun had learned how to hurt the Blazing Samurai most in his attempt to sway him, through the Winged Knight. Bakunetsumaru could not shout in time. Zero couldn’t stand. He was locked in place, an unmoving target in the crosshairs of—

Gunfire and a barrage of missiles rained down on the road. Hakaimaru ‘s aim went off as the ground heaved beneath all four of them. The poker shot straight up and missed its target completely.

A familiar vision came through when the dust cleared. It was a sight that still made Bakunetsumaru’s body run cold as ice. Even Zero shook, no doubt plagued by the images of the Dark Axis invasion that they faced years earlier. Dozens of Doga Bombers descended to a hover above the road, blocking the path into Neotopia in a wall of maybe four dozen. The heckling of the these Axians taunted Bakunetsumaru’s memory. The same road, the same time of night... it truly was the First Invasion all over again.

The only difference being that their guns were not aimed at  _them_.

One of the Doga Bombers moved alongside Bakunetsumaru, drawing an SDG-grade pistol in one hand and offering to help him with the other. White and red, sporting a large #8 on his flank, Bakunetsumaru recognized this mech from a magazine in Shute’s workshop. An air jockey? Jack? Aerial racing had become popular in Neotopia when enough bored Axians got together.

“The Super Dimensional Guard has scrambled the air squadrons and all auxiliaries,” J4-CK said. “We are your requested backup. Special dispensation has been granted to all of us. What are your orders?”

The samurai took the offer and allowed the mech to pull him to his feet. Four yards away, two more Doga Bombers were helping Zero find his legs again. The samurai turned around and marvelled at the scene. Not one Doga Bomber looked exactly alike. Some still had the colors they were originally furbished with, but they had enough customizations to make them stand out. The largest lot of them were customized in unique ways. One mech had a mirror finish, a femme sported a mosaic of crackle patterns, another had a multicolored sheen... these were no longer soldiers with the Dark Axis. They were citizens of Neotopia, come to protect it with every ounce of their mettle.

“Gundam?” The air jockey Doga Bomber cocked his head. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Zero—”

“I’m alive, my friend.” The Winged Knight swayed, regaining his footing. The arrival of their reinforcements must have reinvigorated him. He was able to shift his weight again. His cape blew in a non-existent wind, prepping his inner mana to lift him for flight once more. “We’ve both been through worse.”

But it was too close a call. Far too close. The distress of the Blazing Samurai filtered across space, and Zero reciprocated comfort. Their bondlink wavered. We will be fine. We will persevere.

Da Jarle and Hakaimaru were visibly stunned. Both mechs stepped back, having not expected the arrival of the cavalry. Hope existed for them yet, they could still be saved... but not before a solid  _ass kicking._ Bakunetsumaru didn’t know where he learned that phrase, either.

“As for orders...” Zero raised his shield, posed alongside more of the Axian flyers. The presence of their new allies  _had_ rejuvenated him, because that icy  _resolve_ Bakunetsumaru had come to love was back in his optics. “I can think of something.”

_The more things change._

“The same, old friend,” Bakunetsumaru. “As another ally of ours would say?  _Use your firearms in the defense of Neotopia.”_

Bakunetsumaru, Zero, and fifty-three armed Doga Bombers under their command launched headlong.

**iii**

**Monday**

The Dimensional Halo hovered above Neotopia Tower, churning the skies and wreaking electrical havoc on the city. Their measurements made in the beginning of the siege suggested a diameter of one point six kilometers, but their equipment couldn’t get a proper reading. The feedback from the laser coated surface came back different each time. While advanced robots were able to avoid its degenerative effects, simple electronics in were not so lucky. Street lights and confused traffic signals flickered below as the Halo’s effects worsened. Car horns, fire alarms, and holographic billboards were on the fritz. The air raid siren activated by the new mayor’s office choked on its voice, warbling in a panicked pitch before succumbing.

 _“Damn thing was giving me a headache anyways,”_  Guneagle said over comms.  _“There couldn’t have been that many civilians left down there, right...?”_

There were, and he could see them. Those who had not heeded the evacuation warning days before ran for their lives as space-time was heavily manipulated. At first the effects of the Halo weren’t obvious... it led to a false sense of security as many people remained in their homes instead of leaving. But as the days went on, the spacial destruction was much more obvious. Small items were warped at first as the Halo used its energy to copy and destroy the originals. Now entire cars were being as though they were made of paper. Streets twisted and cracked, asphalt crumbling. An abandoned trolley left on the tracks was beginning to bend in on itself.

Gunchopper One, Monday, flew a perimeter around the Halo for the sixth time. Trying to find a way in that wasn’t so heavily protected was his detachment’s assignment. While the Halo itself had no exterior weapons, the Bad Guys controlling it still had means to protect themselves. Bits, not unlike a  _certain_ mech’s funnels, were darting at them whenever they got too close. Where was that guy, anyways—

He strayed too close. A barrage of laserfire skimmed his armor and Monday dove left and down to avoid being struck. The bits shot infrequently, but with a burst of energy enough to blind him just by being close to it. He had to restart his sensor suite from the electric whiplash.

 _“Monday!?”_  Gunchopper Seven’s voice came through in a panicked alto. Sunday was already a worrier, but the terror in his codec was thick enough to cut through.  _“Are you okay!? I saw that!”_

“Fine, brother!” Monday turned his head, seeing the pinprick of his younger sibling in the distance. “Their patrol range is increasing. The danger zone is now within ten meters!”

 _“An hour ago, it was eight.”_ Another Doga Bomber. Monday couldn’t remember their name, but their connection was so degraded that it was almost impossible to make out.  _“The Halo’s defensive perimeter is expanding...!”_

Gunchopper Four said something, but the link was garbled and swallowed their words.

“Thursday?”

 _“I_ said  _that the rate of expansion has increased. We’ll be at twelve meters in less than eight minutes if the trend continues. Not sure how reliable my software is, though... my fuel gauge is all over the place.”_

Monday swore. “Everyone watch your fuel levels, then. We don’t want to end up face-first in the pavement down there.”

 _“Anything else_ positive  _to report, guys?”_ Guneagle’s exhaustion was palpable over the radio. He was low on fuel, but he had to do something. Everyone was working so hard to stop the Halo was assimilating the city into the De’Scar Road. He had to do his best, too. “ _Did we find any weak spots in the armor yet? All that commotion that Captain and the others caused to the mirror worlds and the jamming devices should have put a dent in this thing!”_

 _“Xenon to Aerial Patrol One, no signs of wear.”_ The Doga Bomber in his command squad was a sheen in the distance.  _“We’re still looking.”_

 _“Gunchopper Two to Aerial Patrol One, same here.”_  Tuesday’s voice knotted with worry, the line laced with static.  _“These surges are screwing with my equipment now! How long before they start messing with_ our  _circuits?”_

 _“Doesn’t matter.”_ Gunchopper Five, Friday, rang through clearer than Tuesday or Guneagle. The connection was still gagging on electric feedback, but it was better than nothing.  _“We have to help the Captain and the others! Keep looking!”_

From the top of the Dimensional Halo, there was an explosion. Red and orange fire bloomed debris, and a shockwave slapped the dense air like a gunshot. Shute and Captain Gundam were hard at work protecting the city once more, true to word. The space pirates were giving them a bad time... but everyone was doing their part. Protecting Neotopia and its citizens came before all else. They did it once. They could do it again.

 _“You got it. No one’s giving up,”_  Guneagle said.  _“Everyone, keep trying! Captain, if you and Shute can hear us, we’re with you!”_

There was the sound of turbines. It cracked in the hard air to Monday’s right, a blast of thunder. “Guneagle?”

_“Uh, that’s not me, dude!”_

The mirror doubles created by the Dimensional Halo were transorganic messes of shimmering material, not quite metal but still tougher than anything they had dealt with before. Crystal? Chitin? A combination of the two. As Monday turned, he saw the shimmer of that awful material shooting towards him from the Halo. Sparkling black, Duel Eagle was alighted with bulbous fluorescent red eyes. They locked ahead on their target as the clone charged headlong for him. Monday reeled. Hadn’t he been dispatched by Guneagle days earlier over the ocean, or was this just another copy?

The other Gunchoppers felt the approaching danger. As muddled as the comms. were, there was no blocking their bond as septuplets. It was Ghost deep.

 _“MONDAY!”_ Wednesday’s voice shook.  _“GET OUT OF THERE!”_

 _“BROTHER!”_ Saturday, terrified.

There was no time. The manoeuvrability of the Gunchoppers was rivalled by the forward thrust of Guneagle, which Duel Eagle replicated. If Monday cut his engines for an emergency divebomb, he risked not being able to turn them on again. A fall at this height would be fatal. The only way to dodge was to parry sideways at the last possible second, impossible with his equipment showing inaccurate scans. Duel Eagle was coming in too hot for anyone close by to intervene. The dread of his siblings was overwhelming and caused him to freeze. He thought of his brothers, how much this was going to  _hurt—_

A flash of yellow and green rammed into Duel Eagle. The Halo born abomination was cleaved in two with a gold pepsaber. A Doga Bomber, larger than the others, barrel rolled to slow its charge and came to a hover. Unlike the other Dual Clones, the Guneagle copy was not at the same level as Dual Captain and was quick to be dispatched a second time that week. The pieces fell to the city below. Monday flinched, watching the debris plummet before turning to his savior. The Axian that saved him descended to his side.

The only thing in the sky that could rival the forward thrust of Guneagle? A Doga Commando.

“Took me five years,” Doga Yellow said bitterly. He flipped a rude human gesture at the wreckage as it fell and struck the side of a building. Crackling plasma in place of smoke rose from the transorganic carcass. “That’s for last time, you bastard.”

“It wasn’t the real Guneagle,” Monday said to Darwin, still dazed. The other Gunchoppers were relaying the same sensation as they also recovered. In the distance, he could see Sunday hovering uncertainly. They thought they were going to lose him, for sure... “I thought you evacuated with your human friend.”

“My old friends would have wanted to be here. I’m doing this for them.” The mech revved his engine, deactivating his pepsaber and drawing an SDG-issued assault rifle. “You’re Seven. You can understand, I’m sure.”

He did. Over his link with his brothers, their shock melted into relief. They were glad he was alright, thankful their once-enemy had come to their rescue. Many people were still bitter about what the Dark Axis did to wound Neotopia and its inhabitants, but the Axians themselves... Gunchopper One was once part of a majority that felt they shouldn’t have been allowed to live on the colony. The atrocities they committed, slave army or not, was a weight he once felt couldn’t he lifted by amnesty alone. But as time went on...

His radar, clouded with static, still managed to light up. More than thirty bogies were closing in from openings that folded down on the side of the Halo. Dual Eagle had a support of Duel Bombers coming in behind him.

Both mechs went back-to-back.

“Two’s not a crowd, for us,” Monday said. “Feel like being our Eight? Guneagle wouldn’t understand. You do.”

“One plus Seven,” Doga Yellow said. He cackled. “I’d like that.”

**iv**

**Renee Clarke**

The V-Ball building was the only building in the danger zone with enough structural integrity to withstand the conflict outside. It was a recognizable building in Neotopia, too. When she lived in her apartment on the east side, she could see the giant rooftop baseball from her studio window. When it was first built it was just a sports supply shop on the ground level of Neotopia’s elevated center district platforms. The installation of the virtual reality center gave the owners an opportunity to expand their brand. They still sold sporting supplies and goods, but the VR baseball stalls on the top floors? It made the  _V-Ball Tower & Sporting Center _a popular spot for all ages. Kids looking to replace worn out baseballs, teams looking for the best gear, adults looking to blow off steam after work...

Renee Clarke wasn’t looking to blow off steam. If she wanted to do  _that_ , all she had to do was go home in a tight dress and a shopping bag full of raw steaks. But that was a  _different_ kind of blowing off and she hadn’t seen her husband in almost three days. In fact, she and a few other people had canabalized the VR station for parts when robots came in damaged. She hoped it wouldn’t go on her record when this was all done with. All the traffic tickets from her orange pickup in the past were bad enough. Damage to private property? That was something she wasn’t keen tacking on.

Wind howled outside. The lights powered by the emergency generator flickered and cut out. An infant and a toddler on two separate sides of the store’s first floor started crying. A woman screamed. Without the hum of the generator, the groan of warping metal was louder than it had ever been. Dozens more gasped in reaffirmed terror.

The Zako she was helping to repair stuttered. “Th-this is n-n-not good...”

The innermost city residents who hadn’t evacuated in time were holed inside several buildings. Before the worst of the non-sapient electronic interference, the designated “safehouses” were able to communicate via text and online message boards when the internet worked. The shoe emporium next door was another shelter, but Renee hadn’t heard from any of the contacts inside in over an hour. Sending someone next door was out of the question. The wind was getting worse and Renee had seen a bicycle outside bend in on itself before being... what? Absorbed? By the Halo?

The Zako she had helped stuttered again. He had explained earlier that he was a mild Defect from mass production. “Th-the Halo s-s-seems to only a-affect non-organic objects exposed to the o-o-outside. We’re still s-safe in here f-f-for now. Zako.”

The building groaned again.

“But how long?” Renee stood up, helpig him to his pedes. The repairs she had done to his leg would hold for now, but he would need a proper doctor once this all blew over. “Sorry for the rough patch job, Showdown.”

“It’s f-f-fine. Better than what I w-would have gotten on the  _M-M-Magna Musai.”_ Showdown tested his weight on his leg and adjusted accordingly. “Chatter on the Newtype Network before the a-a-admin blackout was sketchy. But the Zakos across the city a-agree its getting worse, zako. My m-mate Fireball said there were e-e-explosions on the Halo.”

“The Gundam Force will stop it. I know they will.” Renee hesitated. “Any word on where my—”

“I c-c-can’t see that h-high up.” Showdown deflated. “The Commander is f-f-felt everywhere, but... I’m sorry, zako. They c-cut everyone off on a n-n-need to know b-basis, zako zako.”

There was the sound of shattering glass. Renee felt her heart in her throat before she even turned to see what had happened. Humans, GMs, and other Zakos were fleeing towards the back of the store away from the entrance. Past the bodies, Renee recognized the apparition that came floating through the broken glass and felt her limbs go numb.

“Oh  _shit,”_ she said. Her mouth was dry.

Shimmering green with jagged orange spikes, Bit-Da-Elrello was a menacing mass of metal and ammunition. Renee had no idea if it was sentient, but if it was? It was nothing but anger and unrestrained  _hatred_  for everyone in Neotopia. She had seen it on internet posts and news stations while they were still able to stream television. A superweapon created by the invaders, or an invader itself. Its face was like a three-eyed bald baby bird. The monstrosity levitated forward in the lobby of the store, immediately disengaging several of its “bits.” Light from its many condensed lasers began to light up inside the mechanisms. The machine’s awful eyes opened to a glow, slit sensors locking in on the cornered humans and robots sheltered in the back of the store. The same baby from earlier started crying.

Showdown stammered, pulling on her pants leg. “Th-th-this is n-n- _not_  good...”

Renee pulled the Zako back with her. As the crowd of refugees retreated further into the store, Bit-Da-Elrello followed. Stalking. It wasn’t an easy feat for something as large as it was, but the monster persisted. Displays were knocked askew or trampled entirely. Renee grabbed the nearest weapon she could find as she retreated. A baseball bat display! She grabbed the thickest handle and hoped for metal. What she pulled out was a plastic whiffle ball bat.  _God damn it._ Her palms were sweating. “Everybody back!”

A man shouted. “We can’t go further back! There’s no way out!”

 _End of the line._ The large group had pushed into an open atrium with three levels of elevated walkways above them. The open room had large banners with sports teams hanging from the ceiling, but they might as well have been funeral cowls. The barricades that they had erected to keep the roaming Duel GMs out now kept them trapped. Would it have made a difference anyways? Bit-Da-Elrello had no problem getting past the largest one at the store front. The monster floated closer, body illuminated only by the plasma in its weapon barrels and the lightning outside.

The Zakos started cheering. All at once, the sound of their collective howl filled the huge room and shook nearby glass displays.

“What!?” Another man from the back. “What are they—!?”

Showdown cackled.  _“COMMANDOS!”_

Whatever block had been placed on the Newtype Network, it was nullified with proximity. The poor store manager owner was going to have a field day getting vendors to fix the place… Two shapes barrelled through the opposite bay of windows on the second story. A turquoise Doga Commado immediately opened fire with a heavy fusillade. Bullets through two display cabinets and the most forward-facing bits. As Bit-Da-Elrello turned to engage its newest enemies, a mass of cackling off-purple  _slammed_ down onto its forward steerage. There was a flurry of punches and delightful trash talk.

Doga Teal hovered overhead, bearing an energy shield in the shape of the Gundam Force sigil. “Enemy! You are on the property of a privately-owned business after closing hours! Your current charges are misdemeanour trespassing, misdemeanour window breaking, and public menacing with firearms in the second degree. Surrender immediately, as I am now lawfully required to detain you. You have a right to a public defender. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of—”

“I’M GONNA SUPLEX YOU INTO THE PAVEMENT LIKE A GODDAMN  _PANCAKE!”_ Doga Mauve, shrieking, plunged her fist into one of Bit-Da-Elrello’s eyes. Neon pink fluid flushed from the transorganic mass, causing the monster-mech to scream in pain. The codec was worse than nails on chalkboard. It flailed and  _bucked,_ throwing Doga Mauve into Doga Teal. Bits began to fire off randomly, and a stray shot headed for the crowd.

There was the roar of engines. Glass exploded overhead from a window on the third story, and a shape dropped down with weapons blazing. Bolts of refined laser fire cut off the stray blasts headed for the crowd, causing mid-air detonations of plasma. Renee screamed and ducked her head low, hauling the bat up and swinging it as hard as she could as something  _huge_ dropped next to her. There was a yelp. The whiffle ball bat bounced uselessly over the new arrival’s large head.

She opened her eyes.

Doga Orange stared down at her. “Really.”

She  _screamed,_ dropped the bat, and threw herself at her husband. “TANGO!”

“Oh!” Showdown shuffled excitedly. “Renee! I f-f-found him!”

The hug was immediately returned. The last time she had seen Tango, he was being ushered out the door so fast that she barely had a second to say goodbye. He was _filthy_ , covered in a layer of soot and grime from the heavy rains the night before. But not even the smell of burnt oil and rocket fuel was going to put her off. She dug her fingers into his armor and clung fast. Tango’s own arms wrapped around her shoulders and pressed her body closer.

“I thought I told you to stay where it was safe,” he vented.

The fourth and final mech of the SDG aligned Doga Commandos lunged into the fray. Coming through same window Teal and Mauve had come through, Doga Olive drew his crossbow and aimed—

“Welcome back to the livestream!” His voice was a delightful shout that pierced the eardrum of every unfortunate human in the room. “I’m going to  _shoot_  this ugly sonovabitch for each new subscriber I get! Start hitting that like button— _now!”_

Bit-Da-Elrello swung its body wide. Doga Mauve and Doga Teal, who had gone back into the fight, were thrown into Doga Olive. Mauve crashed into a bowling ball display. Doga Olive was tossed into a trophy model case.

Doga Teal recovered mid-air and fired up their shield once more. “Doga Orange, I strongly recommend moving the civilians!”

“No time! Shield them— I’m engaging the target myself!” Tango looked down at Renee, flashing his optic. Still asking for permission, even two years into their marriage. The last time she had seen him, he had told her to stay safe. It was the last thing he was able to get out before being deployed. Renee felt bad for doing the opposite of what he intended for her by driving straight back into the city...

The truth? She didn’t feel safe  _unless_ she was with him. Unless she knew he was alright.

She nodded in approval. “Go get ‘em, Eggshells.”

Doga Orange’s primary weapon was  _Adam’s Stinger._ A heavy artillery assault rifle with detonating bullets for maximum damage capacity. A cruel weapon in the hands of the wrong mech, which made Tango its perfect partner. The leader of the Commandos fired his afterburners and surged straight for the enemy vessel. He landed pedes first on Bit-Da-Elrello’s front chassis. The bits immediately rearranged to open fire— and Tango summersaulted. The laser fire scorched Bit-Da-Elrello’s own body. The beast screeched that awful call again, gaining lift...

Tango landed and braced his pedes on either side of the monster’s head, aiming the gun down and squeezing on the trigger. Five seconds of shooting was all it took. The mechaical beast wavered on its antigravs, swung wide, and slammed into a display case before collapsing in a slain heap. Tango flipped off its body, double tapping. The bullets tore into its engine and there was smoke. The creature made a sound— then nothing.

Tango roared his engine dominantly. “Copspin! Rombra! Shatterock! Fall in!”

The three Commandos lined up, some scrambling more than others. Teal was rigid. Mauve had a limp. Olive slipped on the polished floor, landed on his chest with the grace of a toppled toddler, and finally righted himself with a grumble.

Doga Teal, Copspin, saluted. “Orders, Orange?”

“Rendezvous with the other auxiliary units and provide cover fire for the gunperries aiding in search and rescue. Commander Sazabi has given us the directive to defend the human populace now that we’ve eliminated one of the superweapons.” Tango pointed at Doga Olive. “Shatterock, are you still streaming?”

“Yes _sir,_ Handsome Citris, sir!”

“First of all,  _never call me that again for as long as you live.”_ Tango pulsed his optic. “Citizens of Neotopia are to continue remaining in their homes until further notice. The Super Dimensional Guard has determined several enemy weak points and is working to neutralize the threat has passed. Thank you for your continued cooperation.”

“You heard Boss Man Number Two,” Shatterock announced proudly, to whatever platform he was livestreaming. “Everyone give a like for Tango! Hell, donate credits to one of his favorite charities if you like him that much. Links are in the description box—!”

“What are  _you_  gonna do, boss?” Doga Mauve, Rombra, was readjusting her arm. It had been dislocated when she was thrown. She snapped it into place, then flexed it to test. “You not comin’ with us?”

“As the most heavily armed unit, I will remain here to ensure no further harm comes to the humans. I will also be able to use this position to direct forces through the Newtype Network.” Tango pointed. “Go! We have assets to defend!”

“Sounds like you just want to cover your  _human’s_ asse— OW!”

Copspin dragged Shatterock away by the command fin, reciting sexual harassment statutes in alphabetical order. Rombra followed the two of them reciting how much stronger she was then that “dumb hover boat.” She was quick to give Bit-Da-Elrello’s shell an entirely unnecessary parting punch. They were gone as quick as they had arrived.

A little Zako in the back squealed. “That was so  _cool, zakoooo!”_

Tango turned to face her, his optic adjusting. “Are you okay?”

“Better,” she said. She touched his arm gently, then reached up to tug at his suicide guard. “Thanks for coming for me, Tee. How did you...?”

“I felt the Zako you helped over the Newtype Network. We have everyone of higher rank blocked, but I can still see everyone below me.” Tango shrugged. “How many humans do you know with only one eye who are mates with a Commando?”

“Only one,” she admitted.

“You didn’t abandon me in that interrogation room,” he said. “I wouldn’t abandon you, either. The second we were in range of the building I felt you.”

“We’re not bondmates.”

“Call it a _hunch.”_

“Until death do we part, that kind of bullshit. I get it.” She smoothed her hand over his nose, smoothing the palm over to his fancy command fin.

There was the sound of afterburners, and the humans were shouting again. At the front of the store where Bit-Da-Elrello had come through, more shapes were now descending. Shimmering, translucent shapes manipulated by space-time. The multiple eyes on their bodies glowed. The Duel GMs created by the Dimensional Halo turned to look inside, peering at the trapped humans within, drawn by the death of Bit-Da-Elrello.

Tango pulled his wife close by the hip, cocking  _Adam’s Stinger_. Inspired by the larger than life display, the trapped Zakos and GMs in the shop grabbed whatever they could. Baseball bats (proper ones), golf clubs, a tennis ball launcher…

Showdown cackled. “Th-th- _this_ is gona be  _good...”_

Renee Clarke grinned.

 **v**  

**Juli Petrov**

Noah Bright would have been rolling in his grave.

“Chieff Haro! Enemy incoming!”

She had seen and heard  _a lot_  in her career as the head of communications for the SDG. She had been privy to thousands of classified relays, briefings, and documents. Often times they were textbook examples of why the Super Dimensional Guard a secret organization in the first place. The first Chief Haro didn’t want the public to live in fear of the unknown after colonizing an alien world, so it was the SDG’s job - at first - to suppress it. Civilians with high powered telescopes were monitored or brought into organization completely. Televising companies with access to satellites were blocked from receiving certain kinds of radio signals from space. In fact, the focus of the SDG was just that: monitoring and repressing information, almost to the point of paranoia.

When she was a teen, Juli Petrov imagined the disaster that drove them from Earth was natural. A looming asteroid impact? Maybe volcanic disruption blocking out the sun? She never wanted to consider the possibility that humans were cruel enough to engineer their own planet’s extinction... but after joining the SDG, she wasn’t so sure anymore. Noah Bright, Chief Haro I,  _knew_ something. The creation of the SDG and its mission was proof of that. Beyond the stars, whatever catastrophe had driven them from their homeworld was still  _out_ there. Still posing a threat.

(She was head of communications. She could read people as easily as she read data. No matter how many times Kao Lyn changed the subject, she recognized his restrained terror with little effort. The way the hairs on the back of his neck would stand up. The waver in his voice. He knew what Bright knew.)

Blanc Base rocked. The newest torrent of fire had struck the base dead on, splashing her console in warning messages. A stabilizer had been hit. Nothing life threatening, but the intent was clear. The bombardment was trying to eliminate Blanc Base’s flight capacity. The satellite junction cable was still holding strong to keep them airborne, but for how much longer?

Another missile jostled the base. Juli caught herself between a frightened Zako soldier in SDG colors and a security detail GM. “Orders, Chief!?

Militarization of the Super Dimensional Guard came later, once Chief Kao Lyn was brought on board. Juli knew about the note passed down to certain members of the SDG, but not what the contents were. Noah Bright had written it himself... something about that letter spurred Kao Lyn to action. Genetic therapy was the first step of Operation: Defender, but only one human subject ever took to it. She had seen all the redacted reports  _and_ the non-censored versions, too (poor Mark). When modifying volunteer humans was no longer a viable option, the first Gundam protype was created. Directions to create a lightweight metal stronger than tungsten, titanium,  _and_ chromium had been found in Bright’s archives and used to forge the first Gundanium ingots. Those ingots were then used to craft the body of the protype GP-00 Gunbot.

Not even twelve years later, Zero appeared and was classified as SDG-008. Euculid-class. The first inter-dimensional sapient entity that anyone on Neos One had ever had contact with. With him came warning of the existence of keter-class invaders.

Protecting Neotopia from an invisible threat beyond the stars was forgotten. Now there was a new enemy, and the Gundam Force Initiative went into full effect. They had two years to prepare for the arrival of the Dark Axis.

Chief Haro recovered long enough to give his first command. He grappled with his command post to stay upright. The flaps of his helmet twitched and exposed dishevelled blonde. “Open fire and scramble additional units! Don’t let that  _thing_ get near the junction cable!”

Five years later, things for Juli and her department had changed drastically. It wasn’t a crippling change, but there were new policies in place (and a new job description to boot). There was less information suppression and a greater focus on public relations. The public  _knew_ about the SDG and the Gundam Force. Using her position to be transparent rather than opaque was a nice change that she welcomed. Even if they wanted to, there was no hiding behind the clouds anymore. Not when Blanc Base was being bombarded with a hostile—

Crystal-Da-Libra’s snowflake shaped body flung itself over the glass dome of the Blanc Base. The Doga Bombers in pursuit were no match for its sheer speed as it dove past. The superweapon fired blasts of fluorescent energy that crystalized everything it touched, blooming shimmering diamonds across all available launch pads. An unmanned gunperry that had crashed on the outside deck was swallowed by it. The beast weaved between Axians, then dove back into the clouds out of sight. Another barrage of attacks came from below.

Chief Haro staggered again as Blanc Base was rocked. “Who are the closest units to respond from the outside?”

The newest member of Juli’s task force beat her to the punch. The little Zako she had caught herself on earlier pulled herself up, swiping her servo across her workstation. “The Gunchoppers, but they’re engaged with more of the Duel Clones, zako! Our last auxiliary detachment rendezvoused with the samurai and knight Gundams. Should I make a request for one of the Doga Commandos to—?”

On another display screen, a livestream channel (with accompanying chatlog from civilians) showcased Doga Olive being thrown through the side of an office building. Juli didn’t dare read the comments.

“I think they’re a little preoccupied,” Juli said.  _“Everyone_ is.”

The whole base went on literal tilt as Crystal-Da-Libra surged overhead. This time the monster had struck them from below them as it lunged out of the clouds. The dome was clipped. The force of the impact as the crystalline machine ricocheted up glass caused a large crack to bloom across the ceiling. The hook that held the junction cable in place with the rest of the base vibrated threateningly. The staff within began to panic as the floor took a sharp incline from the collision. People were thrown as it readjusted. Shouts of terror rose from mecha and human alike.

“Ready the secondary weapons and emergency engines!” Chief Haro struggled back to his feet for a second time. “We mustn’t let that thing hit us again!”

A GM screamed from the deck below Juli. “It’s coming back around!”

Crystal-Da-Libra was no longer taking cheap shots. Doga Bombers scrambled in their exhaustion to intercept, but many were rammed clear out of the way as the weapon made a new run towards them. This time there was no curve to its path. It was headed straight for them. Alarms screamed as the techno-organic beast showed no signs of altering that trajectory.

“It’s going to slam into us!”

“Energy shields are depleted. We won’t be able to deflect—!”

“Brace for impact!” Chief Haro’s voice rang clear above the chaos. “Everyone—!”

There was a flash of plasma that erupted from the clouds, rising with the heat. The thunderclap followed immediately after. The blast bounded off the side of Crystal-Da-Libra and sent the shimmering creature back into the clouds in a spiral. New alarms blared, indicating three large objects surging into their radar. Juli struggled to her feet to look at her console and get a better look at them. When that failed, she turned around and raced to the other end of the platform. Relying on the machines was pointless with the damage they had taken. Her own eyes would have to do. She braced herself on the railing and watched past the largest crack in the dome as an object rose from the cloud cover...

 _“Apologies for being late. The Gundam Musai is now inbound. Please standby.”_ It was Juli’s own voice. Kao Lyn had made it the base for RAIMI when they discovered the  _Magma Musai’s_ original AI had a less than inviting codec. RAIMI came through clear on Blanc Base’s main comm. _“I apologize for the delay. All ships have been refuelled and are ready for combat.”_

The base erupted into cheers.

“RAIMI!” Chief Haro laughed, a mix of genuine excitement and elation rolled into one. “We’re glad you’re alright. We saw the explosion when you went down and feared the worst.”

 _“Not all Dark Axis tech got made cheap, zako!”_  Chatbox’s voice was a second welcome relief over the base intercom. The zako pilot’s voice vibrated with glee.  _“The Magma Musai was built with invasions in mind. She can take a real heavy beating, zako. I brought friends, too!”_

A second barrage hit Crystal-Da-Libra, just as it came back above the clouds to try and make a second run. It barely accelerated before it started to drop. A third came from the opposite direction. Somehow in the chaos, two more musais had come in below radar and were ascending to move in a pincer formation. Black and purple parted churning storm clouds.

 _“Shadow Musai, coming in right behind you.”_ Dade Doven, an ex-squadron leader for the Dark Axis, rang loud and clear alongside RAIMI. As Juli rushed back to her original monitor, she could see his image appear on the screen as he broadcast. He had a full crew of Zakos and humans working alongside him. The last time Juli had seen him, he was fending himself from the Duel Clones at Site B while they tried to make emergency repairs to the  _Shadow Musai._   _“Weapons are charged and we’re ready to fire at will. Civilian mechanics were able to us airborne again.”_

 _“Black Musai, coming in third!”_  Another ex-squadron lead. Guillotine Galbaldy was one of the younger ones, also last seen fighting the Duel Clones.  _“Also ready to fire on your mark! Juli, did you miss us? Sorry for the communication blackout. Turns out the bad guys are listening in after all.”_

“You two scared the daylights out of me.” Juli heaved a shaking breath. “I’m taking you boys out for drinks with my wife when this is all done.”

 _“Better rent out the whole bar, it’s gonna be a party, zako!”_ Chatbox cackled.  _  
I wonder if Boo-Z is still giving away shot glasses with every Zako Surprise purchase on Fridays... I really like the Zako Surprise and their other daquaris, zako.”_

“Worry about the shot glasses later! Focusing on shooting  _that_ glass, first!” As Juli said it, Crystal-Da-Libra made a wide arc around the battlefield. Its focus was still trained on Blanc Base as it came in for another attack.

Chief Haro’s voice rang clear. “All battleships prepare forward canons! Destroy Crystal-Da-Libra!”

Later, over frantic hugs and kisses, Luba would tell her how much she loved her, how glad she was that they had all survived. In her job as a communications officer for the SDG, it was the one thing she lived for when she got to go home at the end of long days. But with the change in the job description had come other perks, too. She got to see how the Super Dimensional Guard grew up to be something truly  _spectacular_. From hiding in the shadows hoarding information, to being in the open and existing in the light. Serving Neotopia in the best way they could. No matter  _who_ you were.

Yeah.

On second thought? Noah Bright would have been damn proud in his tomb. 

**vi**

**Omar Bellwood**

Universal Avenue was abandoned.

The last time he had seen it like that, it had been under drastically different circumstances... and it hadn’t actually been abandoned at all. Not really. Hundreds of statues had lined the road back then, white in the hot morning sun before the skies went dark. The invasion more than five years ago was a fresh memory to this day. He had seen a therapist about it, as part of a mandated program that everyone who had been “on the front lines” had to go through. He felt like he did a good job of keeping his real feelings hidden. That kind of shit just bogged him down. It was better to ignore it than bring unnecessary emotions into the picture. Besides— people were counting on him to get the Dimensional Transport Device up and running again.

Between Sazabi and Bakunetsumaru? Red robots existed to be the bane of his existence.

Omar Bellwood, turning twenty-one in December, sat at the console of his and Kao Lyn’s gunperry battle station. They were parked on the elevated walkway overlooking Universal in the open, wedged between a train station and a ticket building. It was poor cover. Under normal circumstances they would have been sitting ducks, but the two Dogas standing guard outside were a comfort that Bellwood would have balked at a few years earlier.

The scarred Zako next to him, Talkum, was mumbling. “Here it comes...”

Da-Rama-Dara was the Ark inspired superweapon in its trio. Even with the other two in ruins, the third beast was still wasn’t to be taken lightly. Bellwood didn’t need the radar Talkum was reading to see it coming: he could hear its bells before it even rounded the corner. Toppling a parked car with the downward thrust of its antigravs, the monster appeared around the bend at the furthest cross street. A building was chipped, toppling buisness signage as it went past. The bells tolled ominously.

“I don’t get it,” Talkum said. The scarred Zako soldier looked up at Bellwood. “Crystal-Da-Libra went after Blanc Base. Bit-Da-Elrello went after one of the shelters. What is  _this one_  up to, zako?”

It was obvious, moments later. The realization made Bellwood’s heart sink. As Da-Rama-Dara continued on its current path, he could see Kao Lyn working on the console next to him. Bringing up a map of the city and its infrastructure. After palming through several schematics, the older man came to a stop on the city’s power grid layout. Beneath the main stretch of Universal Avenue was the keystone electric line that fed the entire city of Neotopia. While damage made to the line by itself wouldn’t affect the colony proper (there were backup lines in place), the mayhem caused by the Dimensional Halo had rendered other lines non-functional. Da-Rama-Dara’s other attack on the nuclear station a day prior—

“The goal is to destroy the last remaining power outlet to the city,” Kao Lyn said gravely. He started fiddling with another console at his workstation, activating a beacon of some kind. Bellwood saw it flash once before animating some kind of signal icon. Was he calling someone? It couldn’t have been Captain Gundam. Another explosion from the crest of the Halo was evidence enough that the GP-01 was still preoccupied. “That will not only knock out power to the city and the shelters, but it will also cut off a large portion of power to the evacuation zones outside the city as well.”

“Hospitals on the outskirts will be without power.” Bellwood felt his chest knot. “Hell, the entire colony will be left in the dark.”

“The enemy is not showing signs of changing its path.” One of the Doga Bombers stuck her head into the ship. Bellwood watched as the optic snapped towards Kao Lyn, apertures audibly adjusting. It would have unnerved him less than four years ago. “The superweapon will reach our location in ninety seconds. Do you wish for us to engage?”

“Oh no, no,  _no!_ There is no reason for you and your partner to get hurt, Barru. You and Exsis are here only for your escort services. I won’t have anyone else risking their life on my behalf.” Kao Lyn stepped back and struck one of his meditative poses. Which immediately set Bellwood on edge, because Kao Lyn only did that when he was starting to relax. Was he not worried?

That beacon was still flashing on the gunperry command station console.

“If we don’t stop it…” Bellwood tried to step around the older man, looking critically at the display. “The Commandos are scattered. Bakunetsumaru and Zero are busy with bath fetish dude and Hammer Guy. We’re sitting ducks out here!”

“Bellwood is right. The road behind the Galleria is so turned up, Da-Rama-Dara can attack it and destroy the electric line easily. That thing will plow straight through us, zako!”

As if to emphasize how true that was, the superweapon plowed effortlessly through a parked semi acting as a barricade. Earlier in the week, the SDG forces used it to prevent a wave of Duel GMs from proceeding further out of the city. Since then the containment zone had been breached, but their effort to keep the invaders quarantined remained. Da-Rama-Dara toppled it as though it were made of paper. The box car was cleaved in two, toppled, and crushed beneath the alien’s body.

“Not to worry!” Kao Lyn struck another pose. His body was starting to vibrate in excitement. “I have a plan! With it, we’ll be able to take back the ground level of the city and have extra fire power from below! Whoohoo!”

The ground heaved.

Bellwood didn’t have much family that still  _\- really -_ cared about him. He was in trouble a lot as a teen, between hacking his own grades in school databases and illegal software modification. It was never to cause anyone harm, though. He wanted to get into a certain college but putting  _effort_ into the classes that were too dumbed down for him wasn’t a priority. And who was to say that hacking the Air Dinette blimp LED screen was a “menace to society” when all he did was play a couple video games on it? All it did most days was say  _Welcome to Neotopia!_ Welcome from where the hell  _else?_ When his parents and uncle gave up on him, Kao Lyn was there to have his records scrubbed and his talents put to work. He was more of a parent than his real folks ever were.

So when Kao Lyn started to pull  _weird shit,_ he was right there to try and reel him in. But as the ground heaved for a second time, and Da-Rama-Dara stoppedto take notice, Omar Aslam Bellwood knew shit was about to hit the fan.

“What did you do?” Bellwood leaned closer to Kao Lyn, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck raise.  _“What the hell did you do?”_

“Do you remember the Zakorello Gate, and how you incorporated it into the Dimensional Transport Device?” Kao Lyn finally turned to look at Bellwood, and the younger man immediately wished he hadn’t. The borderline maniac  _glee_ in the older man’s expression was worrying. So much so, even the  _Doga Bombers_  looked worried. How could they even do that? All they had one was eye and not even a proper face! Talkum took a step back, too. “You said it was a recycle job. Well, you’re not the only one capable of recycling!”

The ground shook for a third time, rocking the gunperry. Something was coming. Something huge. All at once, there was a rapid beeping from the console. A large item showed up on radar. Not Blanc Base, dipping below a certain altitude. Not a large cloud of Duel Dogas. Not the Dimensional Halo changing course

Da-Rama-Dara turned, but not in time to save itself. A tremendous canon blast tore into it, ripping its body to shreds. The superweapon had absolutely no time to adjust its position in time for the attack. One of its bells was sheared clear from its body, launching half-formed spikes as it tried in vain to defend itself. The energy output from the rogue mortar fire was beyond anything—

Gunpanzer’s voice echoed with a tremendous boom, coming from the monstrosity stomping around another cross street. In his newest body, he crushed a car underfoot on his way to confront the dying wreckage of Da-Rama-Dara. The creature tried to launch more spikes from its bells, stopped when the GP-00 in his newest incarnation  _dropkicked him into the side of a building._ He was laughing manically. “THAT’S WHAT YOU GET, YA VARMIN! NO ONE MESSES WITH GUNZAM! YEEEEEHAH!”

Bell Wood looked at Kao Lyn.

“You did  _not.”_

Kao Lyn smiled.

Bellwood did not stay in the gunperry. He screamed, threw his hands in the air, and scrambled to get off the ship as fast as possible. Neither one of the Doga Bombers stopped him, too engrossed with raw terror to move from their posts. Even Talkum was rotted to the spot, watching as the same Big Zam that once terrorized Blanc Base years earlier curbstomeped the last of the superweapons into scrap.

“EITHER HE RETIRES, OR  _I_  RETIRE.”

**vii**

**_SUNRISE PRODUCTIONS MEDIA BUILDING_ ** **\- ZAKO STUDIO**

A SPOTLIGHT lights up on a closed gunmetal steel CURTAIN. A projection of ZAKO ZAKO HOUR is displayed on the metal. Yes, we are going THERE. It wouldn’t be a decent FINAL CHAPTER without the…

Zako!

       Zako!

              Zako!

**Zako Zako Hour!**

The curtain lifts after the familiar INTRO JIG plays, and the THREE ZAKO HOSTS are revealed to be waiting on stage. From stage right to stage left there is ZAKO #3 with a YELLOW MICROPHONE, ZAKO #1 with a RED MICROPHONE, and ZAKO #2 with a BLUE MICROPHONE. All three of the hosts bow courteously. The STAGE rocks as a distant EXPLOSION rings in the background. Whimpering is heard off stage from whatever AUDIENCE is present…

 **Z1  
** Ladies and gentlebots! Welcome to the  _Zako Zako Hour!_  Today’s meeting is all about— all together now—!

All three hosts shout at the SAME TIME, revealing they are just as DISORGANIZED as ever.

 **Z3**  
(with DETERMINATION)  
What is an epilogue!?

 **Z1**  
(also with DETERMINATION)  
Where are we!? 

 **Z3**  
(with thrice as much DETERMINATION)  
Whatever  _was_  the fate of Commander Sazabi!? 

All three hosts stop and look at each other. There is also no response from the AUDIENCE.

 **Z1**  
(sighing, exasperated)  
We didn’t review for this show very well, did we? We have  _standards_  now, zako. We can’t do this.

 **Z3  
** In our defense, there’s a disaster going on outside, zako zako. It’s not like we had a lot of time to go over the material.

 **Z2**  
(shrugging)  
Better just roll with what we got and go over all three, there’s obviously a lot to talk about, zako.

Z1, looking DISTRESSED, flails his arms wildly. This distress has nothing to do with YET ANOTHER EXPLOSION that rocks their stage.

 **Z1  
** No, no, no! Of all three subjects we announced, not one of them was about the Dimensional Halo, the space pirates, the Duel Clones, Da Jarle, or the bath fetish guy! Those all seem infinitely more relevant to our current situation.

 **Z3**  
Then how come you didn’t say any of those things, zako?

 **Z2**  
(quietly, embarrassed)  
Is that his name? Just Bath Fetish Guy? Is  _that_  how we’re going to remember him, zako?

Z3 and Z1 stare at Z2. The subject of BATH FETISH GUY is quickly dropped in favor of something LESS UNCOMFORTABLE.

 **Z3**  
To be fair, none of this is really supposed to be canon.

 **Z1**  
We better start from the beginning, zako.

All three HOSTS shuffle backwards, gesturing to the screen behind them. It lights up to show the word EPILOGUE, accompanied by a definition. It appears to be a screenshot from a NEOTOPIA WEBSITE.

 **Z1**  
An epilogue, ladies and gentlebots, is a section at the end of a book or play that serves as a conclusion to what has happened.

 **Z3**  
Hmm.

 **Z2**  
What?  
  
**Z3**  
Nothing. It just seems a bit weird that this was going to be a subject of today’s episode.  
  
**Z2**  
You’re the one that brought it up!

 **Z3**  
Yes, but the Zako Zako Hour is supposed to be canon now? We can’t wall break like this. Especially since this is a serious story, with serious scenes, and us Zakos in perilous and serious situations, zako!

The ground shakes and the CAMERA pans out, revealing that the hosts are in a STUDIO with EMPTY INCIDENCE CHAIRS. Only a handful of OTHER ZAKOS are present, likely the remaing CREW MEMBERS who did not evacuate in time.

A Zako hiding behind a SOUND STATION lifts his head up and waves his arm at the hosts. DJ Z@K0, who usually moonlights at clubs to avoid dealing with this exact LEVEL OF CRAZY, is trembling as another tremor rocks the studio building. He is clearly NOT HAPPY.

 **DJ Z@K0**  
(crying)   
YOU GUYS ARE OUT OF YOUR MINDS, ZAKO. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

 **Z1  
** IF YOU CUT POWER TO OUR MICS I’M GONNA BEAT YOU WITH A SHOE. THE SHOW MUST GO ON.

A STAGE LIGHT falls and nearly BONKS Z2 in the head. He barely avoids being CLOBBERED SENSELESS.

 **Z2**  
Speaking of which…!

 **Z1**  
Oh yeah! That’s right! We have our own fancy studio in Neotopia now! Humans like our show, zako! Now it  _gets_  to be an hour, zako! With sponsors and a real crew and everything!

 **Z3**  
Which is nice, zako, but there’s no audience today.

 **Z2**  
Luckily, we have plenty of sources now. The Commander made sure we have access to decent equipment. Screen please!

The HOSTS look at the SCREEN, which lights up to show EPIC SCENES ACROSS NEOTOPIA. The LIVESTREAM mentioned by SHATTEROCK the NU DOGA COMMANDO is shown with a live audience chatlog, showing TANGO dong a HEROIC POSE and taking out BIT-DA-ELRELLO. Two more CLIPS show the destruction of CRYSTAL-DE-LIBRA by the  _GUNDAM MUSAI, BLACK MUSAI, and SHADOW MUSAI._ Another clip shows the destruction of DA-RAMA-DARA by the secretly upgraded GUNZAM, an ABOMINATION. A fourth feed shows the POV of a DOGA BOMBER divebombing DA JARLE and THE BATH FETISH GUY.

 **Z2**  
Huh.

 **Z3**  
What? What is it?

 **Z2**  
There are a lot of Axian elements in these scenes. And we’re like… being framed nicely? Are we… are we  _real_ good guys, now?

All three hosts look at each other. There is an AWKWARD PAUSE. On the screen behind them, Tango does ANOTHER HERO LANDING as he lunges into a crowd of DUEL CLONES and FIGHTS LIKE A BADASS.

 **Z3**  
(quietly)  
That is  _awesome_ , zako.

 **Z2**  
That’s not it, that’s not it, that’s not it!  
  
**Z3**  
What are you yelling about, now? How is that not it, zako!?  
  
**Z2  
** If we’re sharing hero status with the Gundams now, then what  _was_  the fate of Commander Sazabi?

 **Z1**  
[A fanfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7929382/chapters/18122086).

 **Z2**  
_That’s not it, that’s not it, that’s not it!_

 **Z3**  
You mean  _after_  he joined the Gundam Force, zako?

 **Z1**  
Maybe join isn’t the right word… he’s still the Commander! He’s  _terrifying!_  The Gundam Force isn’t supposed to be terrifying right?

The SCREEN lights up to show an unflattering, FRANKLY SCARY candid arrangement of the Gundam Force cast in a villainous light.

 **Z2**  
 On second thought…

The three hosts look at each other NERVOUSLY. The Gundam Force still SCARES THEM, even if only JUST A LITTLE BIT.

 **Z3**  
Wait! I just noticed something!

 **Z1**  
Noticed what zako?

The SCREEN lights up again, showing Tango, the Nu Commandos, Doga Bombers, and OTHER ZAKOS SOLDIERS from HEROIC and REALLY COOL angles, helping to save Neotopia from the Dimensional Halo threat.

All three hosts are VERY QUIET.

 **Z2**  
I think I figured it out, zako. I… I think the  _real_  fate of Commander Sazabi isn’t what just happened to him. It’s what happened to all the Dark Axis remnants. We’re—

 **Z3**  
We’re good guys now.

 **Z1**  
Not just good guys. We get  _hero_   _framing_.

All three hosts look at each other, and YELL in DELIGHT. Being HEROES means that they will NO LONGER GET THEIR AFTS BRUTALLY KICKED ALL THE TIME. The three embraces excitedly. As another explosion rocks the world outside the studio. The OUTRO JIG plays, but there is no need for any kind of OUTRO MONOLOGUE.

**viii**

**Monique Thatcher**

“We should move underground,” she said. “We need to get somewhere  _safe.”_

No one listened to her.

The Personhood Preservation Society of Neotopia had all but disbanded. The group that once consisted of over five hundred members had thinned considerably, to the point where the church that she once ran with her husband was often times emptier than a House of God had any right to be. All those meetings, the rallies, picket lines... they had all been for nothing. Religion was still very important to her. Her faith was still her rock when the world she grew up in became increasingly unrecognizable. Not even the PPSN could save her colony from the soft takeover The Dark Axis - the Axians - imposed. They had invaded every aspect of Neotopia in the years since the first invasion. They had learned from their past mistakes, that hostility was no required for a takeover.

The takeover did not end with petrified victims, armies of hacked machines, a monster tower sprouting like a weed, and the howls of those awful aliens. It ended with domestic living, housing placement, and giving their almost-murderers  _jobs._

(The Axian she interrogated all those years ago was now second to Commander Sazabi. Married to  _that same woman_. Always quiet and polite on television. A disturbingly  _convincing_  gentle temperament. So many selfies with young people who spotted him on the street. A celebrity like the rest of them. She looked like a monster after the footage of TA-N90’s “interview” surfaced. It ruined her.)

The PPSN hadn’t just lost. They had given up. Monique Thatcher’s mistakes that put her in the spotlight decimated any chance they had of saving the colony. And the parish that made up Joseph Thatcher’s little House of God had given up with it. Joe would have been so upset to see his wife run the church he built with his own two hands into the ground. She prayed he would forgive her.

No one in the immediate vicinity responded to her. The lights overhead flickered with threatening intent to plunge them into the dark, but the backup generators held fast. Solomon Bull High School was where Monique went as a teenager before enrolling in the disbanded Peace Core. Now its gymnasium now served as an emergency shelter for the Dimension Halo Crisis. More than two hundred people from neighboring houses in the district had gathered to feel at least  _some_ semblance of security... but Monique was beyond that. She had stopped feeling secure since Commander Sazabi arrived with his terrible Horn of War. There was no security when a monster that claimed himself to be a tyrant was now walking free, as if nothing he did was  _punishable_.

Justice was dead. She didn’t want to give up hope, but the world was pitted against her. No one cared what she thought anymore. Not even her own children.

Monique cleared her throat. Her mouth was dry. “I said—”

“We  _heard you.”_ Molly was not looking at her. “Be quiet.”

A lot of things had changed in Neotopia since the first invasion. The colony wasn’t the only victim to have its innocence robbed. Molly Thatcher was never girlish or outgoing, always dressing in modest sweaters and lingering in the shadow of her friend, but she was still a child. After Bethany Collins was killed, Monique saw a transformation in her daughter that began to frighten her. At first she was proud of her daughter for taking up the torch of the Preservation Society when she had to step down. But as the PPSN waned and even started to dredge into  _meme_ territory in the public eye, Molly... started sneaking out. Staying out for days at a time. The first time Monique called the police, Molly threatened her to mind her own business. Then she started bringing “friends” home, hiding in the church basement for weeks at a time...

The first time she heard about a Zako being run over by a car five miles from the church, she thought nothing of it. Then she heard about the young woman who was bludgeoned half to death outside her house, after getting a job at the Axian Acclimation Center. The older gentleman assaulted behind his U-C Mart after hiring an Axian cashier. The toddler nabbed from a daycare center that employed a Doga, found crying on the side of the highway two hours later.

Monique had a suspicion. Sinking and cold. She asked Molly if she knew anything.

“Don’t ask me that.”

Her blood had never run colder.

The lights in the gymnasium flickered again. The building groaned as the windstorm outside picked up intensity. There was the sound of shattering glass as a strong gust blew out a window somewhere in the school. The front doors? Monique heard it and snapped her head in the direction of the sound. So did the two Axians closest to her. Less than ten feet away, a Zako and a Doga Bomber. Seated with them were two small children and woman who could have been Monique’s age.

The woman trembled. “Is it those—?”

“It’s just the wind, zako. We’re okay.” The Zako mech, painted a green two shades darker than the usual color associated with their kind, touched her arm. “I think we’re winning.”

(He was wrong. They had already won. Why would they ever lump themselves into the same group as humans? What was the point?)

Another microburst shook the school. The lights went out for a moment but returned before the room collective had time to exhale. A few children cried out but that was it. The Doga Bomber closest to her comfortered the youngest child clinging to their leg.

Monique tried to swallow but tasted only grit. “I know how to get to the basement. It might be safer—”

“ _Monique.”_ Molly turned her head. “I said  _be quiet.”_

In another lifetime, she would have struck her daughter for being do disrespectful. She should have been furious. Now she only felt mortification and embarrassment as several people turned to look at her. Did they recognize her from all her years of making a fool of herself? The Axians must have. How could they not? The Doga and Zako turned their optics to look at her but their gazes didn’t linger. Thank God. The motion was with eerie synchroniazaion. Their kind had dismissed her as a threat a long time ago. The Super Dimensional Guard and Commander Sazabi had made sure of that.

And it wasn’t just the humiliation she felt, either. She would have been lying if she said she was more afraid of the two Axians sitting next to her than her own daughter.

Monique looked to Nathan for help. Her eldest and only son gave her a  _look_. Whatever business Molly had embalmed herself in, Nathan Thatcher was in on it, too. Apart from the colony she grew up to love, even her own children were turning on her.

“I don’t understand,” Monique said. Her chest knotted. “Why won’t you  _listen_ to me?”

Her family continued to ignore her. Beside them, both children began to cry. The old woman couldn’t console them but the Axians were able to. The Zako launched into a series of knock-knock jokes that distracted the oldest and the Doga pulled the youngest into their arms rocked with them. Monique could see Molly glaring daggers. She could only imagine what her daughter was fantasizing, and the notion was horrifying. Who was she thinking of hurting, first? The robots for being what they were, the children for not knowing any better, or the old woman for being complacent?

With each of her children on either side of her, she had never felt more alone.

Monique put her face in her hands and wept.

**ix**

**Kuchi Kuchi**

They were Alpha and Omega. They were the Beginning and the End. The heart and soul of space-time itself. They were a consumer of worlds, leaving nothing in their path other than cosmic ruin. The term “space pirate” was cute, but otherwise insulting to their true nature. Many universes they visited referred to them as Angels. They were twin masters of life and death itself, contained in a single body.

A pseudo-Gundam from some backwoods timeline wasn’t going to stop them.

 _Couldn’t_.

The thoughts came at an inopportune time. A bombardment of missiles struck the Angel as the Destroyer Forme of the SD Gundam sped past. The speed of this robot in particular put the full sized models to shame. Kuchi Kuchi rolled mid-air with the blow and regained their hover only barely. The battle had been drawn out for far too long and both the Angel and challenger were falling apart. Captain Gundam’s strength was waning.

A distraction, but still all according to plan. Gundam-types were always getting in the way of the worlds they absorbed. A pseudo-Gundam barely a fiftieth of their normal size was  _not_ going to get in their way.

The pseudo-Gundam emerged from another layer of smoke. In his haste to widen the distance between them, Duel Captain lunged out of the darkness for him. Unlike the superweapons, the Duel Clones could be regenerated at will when the Dimensional Halo absorbed enough energy. The hyper-coating allowed Captain to cut through his Duel copy easily... but another few minutes would allow the regenerated successor to come right back into the battle. Captain rolled to a stop, exhausted.

“This is a fight you cannot possibly hope to win!” The pseudo-Gundam straightened himself out, calibrating his weapons. Even with a mere Ghost as its pilot, the Gundam held itself with remarkable strength. Perhaps they would have to absorb this kind of world more often. “Surrender and withdraw from Neotopia at once!”

Kuchi Kuchi did not have to attack. Duel Zero and Duel Maru lunged out of the smoke to attack the Gundam for him. Duel Zero’s claws bounced uselessly off the pseudo-Gundam’s armor. Duel Maru’s sword did the same. Captain was quick to launch another bombardment of missiles that rained down around him. The clones were destroyed, but Kuchi Kuchi could already feel them fast regenerating in such proximity to the Halo.

Faster than the other clones across the city, being destroyed by the enemy. Even as the Halo absorbed enough of both Neotopia and Solar Diorama adjacent, they were... what? Finding themselves  _matched?_

Curious.

As confident as Kuchi Kuchi was that the worlds would soon be completely assimilated, there was something... amiss. It was difficult to place at first, with all the noise they had to listen to. Being an ethereal force came with perks, but not necessarily omnipresence. Gundam-types always posed a threat to its Halo, but this ridiculous,  _super deformed_ Gundam world was putting up much more of a fight than they anticipated. How? They had seen into the future and intended this world to be a target a whole millennium earlier, but their future-sight was somehow  _wrong_. They had arrived almost five years later than intended. There were also new allies in their world that they had not foreseen earlier. They knew of the Dark Axis and its cruel master, another deity of dimensional proportions. A literal God, casting Angels like themselves in the wake of a tall shadow. But the Axians no longer followed It. They were their own Masters now, devoid of the blackened religion that once held them prisoner.

Yes. Something had  _happened_ to space-time to alter the world they intended to absorb. What exactly it was, they still not did not know.

Not like it mattered. The Dimensional Halo would have its way with this world no matter what. There was no stopping them.

Another bout of missile fire, which Kuchi Kuchi dodged. He had few little defenses, but Captain Gundam’s weakness was more and more apparent. Traveling the De’Scar Road to force them out of hiding had worn him down. Not even his forme-upgrades could save him.

Not even the boy.

“Captain! You can do it!” The human adolescent was still cheering his failing idol on. It was rare for them to encounter humans outside the Gundam-types, but this world did not require their robots to have pilots. It was skating to outpace the flock of Duel Dogas in pursuit (so far, the only  _positive_ result of having the Axians present in this timeline). When a Duel Doga drew too close, the human turned around and opened fire with a small handheld weapon. The copies dematerialized quickly when struck. Too quickly.

What was happening? Was the Halo truly waning? Kuchi Kuchi assessed themselves. True to word, their health was deteriorating. The battle was  _actually weakinng them._ With that, the Halo was growing weak as well.

This would not do.

This would never do.

Kuchi Kuchi drew strength from themselves and the energies responsible for the arrangement of the Duel Clones. A persistent Gundam, real-type or no, called for a measure that would punish and put them in their place. As another incarnation of Duel Captain began to materialize out of a new dark portal on the floor of the Halo, Kuchi Kuchi destroyed it themselves.

Captain Gundam sputtered. “What did you do!?”

“Captain!” That was the human boy. As he turned to aim at the Duel Clones again, the Doga copies evaporated into a shimmer. “What’s going on  _now?”_

Kuchi Kuchi ignored the child. They drew themselves to a hover, far enough from Captain to stay safe. Close enough to assert that they were still not to be dismissed. The Angel would seize this night from the pseudo-Gundam once and for all. “Aah... my, all of that  _Determination._ So you  _do_ live up to the Gundam name. We’ll have to bring in our loyal and most powerful warrior. Come...  _Duel Lord._ ”

Duel Lord’s incarnation always changed, dependant on the world the Halo consumed. Kuchi Kuchi had seen it take many formes across the cosmos. Using battle data collected by the other Duel Clones across this campaign, it took on a grey skeletal body with pulsing violet plasma within. A bladed arm, massive clawed hand... Kuchi had predicted this would be the forme it would take based on the appearance of the Duel Trio. However, the Axian-build wings blooming from the beast’s back were a pleasant surprise. Even if the Gundam were to regain its strength, there would be no outpacing  _this_ Angel of Death.

“Attacks will be futile against this ultimate masterpiece,” Kuchi Kuchi said. “Let the challenge  _begin.”_

The Halo pulsed with renewed strength as Captain Gundam lunged for the attack. Another volley of missiles did absolutely nothing. Whereas the Duel Captain and the others had needed time to regenerate, Duel Lord was able to heal itself instantly. The invincible creature let its body cast the familar shimmer of the Halo as it took no damage at all. Captain Gundam had no time to avoid the wide sweep of Duel Lord’s sword. Kuchi Kuchi was dissapointed that the bladed edge did not strike a death blow, but the hyper-coating would fail soon enough. The Gundam flipped through the air, landing hard and skidding painfully across the ground.

“CAPTAIN!” The human’s voice shook. “Hang in there! I’m calling the Re-Equip Ring! Kao Lyn says your Secret Forme is ready!”

Through the clouds, Kuchi Kuchi sensed a presence. A shape was surging in past the darkened clouds, illuminated as a shadow only when lightning flashed. The Re-Equip Ring, no doubt. The boy had no time to call that quickly, but the humans must have been aware of their hero’s peril. It would come too late. Duel Lord was already advancing on Captain Gundam with heavy footfalls. The pseudo-Gundam was struggling to even sit up.

“Don’t you dare give up, Captain! Activate your Soul Drive!” The boy was shaking wildly. His own Determination was matched with even his weak Gundam ally. “Neotopia is counting on you!”

The Gundam tried to stand. Duel Lord backhanded him with his massive clawed paw. Captain flipped sideways, landing roughly on his side and skidding. Sparks flew where the armor scraped the Halo’s hull. The glow of the hyper-coating flashed,  _shimmered..._

Captain’s glow receded. The mech’s armor sparked from overexertion. Now the only light that came from his body was from the cracked casing where his Soul Drive was housed.

Kuchi Kuchi was normally above physical possessions. They found it pointless to hoard items when they could not follow you into the ethereal. But after all the frustration of dealing with this world, of losing his beloved superweapons...

It would make for a fantastic trophy.

The human was shouting again. “Get up, Captain!  _Get up!_ We’re all counting on you! There’s no way you can lose!”

How insufferable! Worse still, Kuchi Kuchi could see light building inside that exposed chamber. Invincible or not, Duel Lord would be no match for a sudden blow powered by that sphere. It defied all laws of physics whenever it so much as flared. Not even an Angel such as themselves had the foresight to explain it.

The boy. That was the Gundam’s source of power.

It would have to be destroyed immediately.

“I am through with these games, Gundam.” There was no calling this atrocity against the universe a pseudo-Gundam any longer. He was the real thing. Even more powerful as his own person. Stronger than even the largest variants with human pilots. This world needed to be absorbed  _immediately_. “I am Kuchi Kuchi. I am Alpha and Omega! I will take and create as I see fit. Bear witness to the birth of your destruction! Starting with  _your insect._ ”

He turned to lunge for the boy. He heard Captain Gundam shout in terror. The boy, Shute, froze in shock as his doom came to greet him.

The Angel did not make it more than three feet.

The shadow of the Re-Equip Ring was moving in faster than Kuchi Kuchi originally thought. _Too fast._ Lightning streaked downwards through the black clouds and cast a new shadow against the swirling storm. The lightning did not take the usual path of wild electricity. It was obedient and poured down as a pillar of light. It struck the surface of the Halo, and as Kuchi Kuchi turned to face it, they saw it wasn’t lightning at all. The canon blast swallowed Duel Lord in a tower of heat and cleaved through the side of the Halo itself. No amount of energy shielding could protect it from the heat that chewed its north face to atoms.

There was nothing left of the Angel’s invincible creature when the smoke cleared. Duel Lord was obliterated.

“What?” Kuchi Kuchi felt a  _suffocating_ presence. Pure, raw, unbridled energy seized the atmosphere in a choke-hold. As the Halo cried out in silent pain that only the Angel could feel, a sensation of dread throttled Kuchi Kuchi. Never in all their existence absorbing worlds had they felt such a force. It was impossible for this world— literally impossible. While their original vision of this world had changed, this presence was not supposed to _be here._ There was no accounting for it even with their minor omnipresence. It was  _not supposed to exist in this timeline._

In that moment, they realized what went wrong. Why they had gotten so much  _wrong_ about this world, despite foreseeing the future so easily before.

Fate had changed.

A  _specific_ fate.

The light was overwhelming. It was night, but the power of a sun was bearing through in a blinding rage. Kuchi Kuchi barely had time to skim backwards as another blast from that awful, searing canon nearly chewed him to oblivion. He had no lifespan and had existed through time for thousands of years, but there was nothing immortal to save him from a real death. Trembling in terror, he looked up, following the gaze of the boy as he turned to the sky as well. There was no Re-Equip Ring.  _That_ object was in the far distance, lumbering in the storm with no urgency. What hovered before them was a vision of crimson.

Racing on the thunder, rising with the heat.

Kuchi Kuchi crumbled. An Angel in the third sphere, cowering before a Seraphim in the first. A true Burning One, its Soul Drive radiated Pure Light.

“Goodbye,” Commander Sazabi said. His Soul Drive was still active with the power of a thousand comets as he readjusted himself, firing up his Vulcan Canon.

Kuchi Kuchi was engulfed, thrown to the wind as little more than embers.

**x**

**Nanako Ray**

She was going to be six in September.

Nanako Casval Ray was an ordinary little girl, as far as she was concerned. She went to school like all the other kids in Neotopia. She lived with her family in a house that was just the right size. Her least favorite food was meatloaf, which was a perfectly reasonable thing to dislike because Grandma Pam made it taste weird (she said her secret ingredient was  _Love_ , so that was probably the culprit). She watched cartoons every Saturday morning in the living room with a bowl of Mirai-O’s and sometimes leftover meat scraps. _Someone_ had to eat the leftovers from dinner the night before! Recently, she had been seeing trailers for a new show called Dyna Robo! She was excited for that one.

It was Saturday, but she hadn’t been able to watch cartoons that morning. Not even the day before. She hadn’t even been to school. Everything was cancled because of “bad weather,” but Nanako knew perfectly well that it had to do with the ship floating over Neotopia.

“How do you know?” Mom asked. She didn’t sound mad. “No one told you, did they?”

“Sure,” Nana said. “I heard it from some Zakos. They talk really loud _and_ at the same time, sometimes.”

Mom checked her phone. It wasn’t a “grown up” phone like her big brother Shute had. It had a few contacts saved that were important, and they were the only ones she could call or receive calls from. Family members and friends. Most of them were robots, actually.

Nanako must have been s _uper_ Normal, come to think of it. Only a total weirdo wouldn’t have so many contacts!

 

“No one has called you,” Keiko said. “How did the Zakos tell you?”

“Huh.” Nanako took her phone back, turning it over. “I guess you’re right! Maybe I did make-believe.”

Shute was away on a mission, and Dad was stuck in his music office in the city. Mom told her not to worry, so she didn’t. Even when the storm clouds gathered and Mom asked her to wait with her in the basement, she actually started to feel something else.

Frustration. This was taking too long.

(Why wouldn’t Chief Haro just _launch_ him already? Captain was too soft to deal with the pirates himself, the fool.)

“Can I go back upstairs?” she tried to make herself sound as convincing as possible. “Please?”

When Mom asked her why she wanted to, Nanako shrugged.

“I think it’s fine,” she said. “Sazabi is taking care of it.”

It was the third and final day of the bad weather when Mom finally let them go back upstairs. She still wouldn’t let her watch any TV though, so she colored in the dark by a flashlight. When Mom asked her what it was, she shrugged again.

“Sazabi beating the bad guy,” she said. Nanako didn’t think she needed to explain herself further. It was pretty self-explanatory.

An hour later, Mom’s cell phone started ringing. Dad was on the other line and she put him on speaker.

“I just heard from the other guys here in the office. It’s over!” He sounded out of breath. “Captain, Sazabi, and Shute destroyed the Dimensional Halo!”

While not actually destroyed, it was disabled. They all saw the explosion of light, the way it tore through the Halo. Nanako knew right away that it was Sazabi. He was the only one who had that kind of firepower. Mom finally turned the television back on when they got power back. Reports were pouring in on all the stations talking about how the destroyed parts of Neotopia were rematerializing. Without the Halo’s power to finish absorbing everything, the city was returning to normal. Nanako didn’t understand a lot of it... but she was quick to jump to her feet regardless when they showed footage of the Doga Bombers gathering on the south face of the Halo. The Halo was slowly losing altitude. Sazabi told her once that meant it was falling. To keep it from falling on the city, it had to get knocked off course. Even with parts of it starting to disintegrate, it wouldn’t be gone in time before it hit the ground.

The target was a distant hillside. They warned people to prepare for minor shockwaves.

It was past her bedtime when the sound of turbines came from outside. Nanako flung herself out the sliding glass door of the living room onto the porch before Mom could stop her. The gunperries that were arriving weren’t her focus: it was the red shape flying between them. Whether they were escorting him or the other way around didn’t matter.

“Sazabi!”

Two gunperries landed little ways away, but the Commander was able to land safely at Nanako’s feet. The mech scoffed, looking down at her with an adjusted optic aperture. “You should be asleep.”

“Mom and I were waiting for everyone to get back. Did you really beat the bad guy yourself? Dad says that Captain and Shute helped, but I bet you did it all on your own. I could see your Soul Drive activate  _all_ the way from over here!”

“Nanako, Sazabi might be tired. Let’s use our indoor voices.” Keiko Ray walked outside next, carrying a small plate. On it was a collection of rice balls. Nana couldn’t help but giggle. Mom must have whipped them up hearing the gunperries coming.

“But we’re  _outside_ , mom!”

“Listen to your parent.” Sazabi reached out, plucking one of the rice balls of the plate. He unlatched his jaw and tossed the unsuspecting snack inside. Nana could hear the metal pieces grinding in his throat as it was mashed to bits.

From one of the gunperries came Shute and Captain Gundam. The latter was limping slightly, thankful to take one of the rice balls offered to him. Kao Lyn was stepping out behind him, already doing some silly looking flips. For an old guy, he was super funny! Shute shakily took one too, before he stopped to hug Keiko. Nanako was quick to grip him by the pants leg and hug, too. She wasn’t shaking like Mom was, though.

“I swear, the  _next time_ you get yourself into trouble over Neotopia Tower, I’m coming to get you again.”

“It’s fine, Mom.” Shute was grinning. “I had Captain with me, just like last time. And we had help, too.”

Nana pouted. “I still bet that Sazabi didn’t  _need_ your help.”

The second gunperry finally opened. Nana had to block her hears when Mom shouted. She pulled out of the hug to rush into the arms of the man who stepped out— and then Nana found herself shouting, too. She hadn’t seen Dad in almost three days! He certainly  _looked_ like he had been stuck in his music studio without a shower, drenched in sweat and messy looking. Shute was gaping dumbly when he rushed over to greet his father, too.

“I think this one belongs to you,” Juli said, sticking her head out the side of the white gunperry’s door. “Chief Haro had us pick him up personally. We thought you would want a speedy reunion.”

“Yeah, he’s a pretty swell guy.” Mark grinned, kissing his wife. “Miss me?”

“I missed  _all_ of you!”

Nanako noticed that Sazabi had wandered away, standing by the fence furthest away from the noisy reunion. Nanako loved her human family, but the mechanical element was just as important. She broke away from Shute and the others to join the Commander. The largest piece of the Dimensional Halo that hadn’t already faded into space-time drifted beyond the city limits. It’s collision course with a grassy knoll on an inconspicuous hillside was imminent. She could see the Doga Bombers, pinpricks in the sky, swarming to make sure it continued on its projected path.

“Isn’t that the same hill you crashed into?”

“Observant little pest, aren’t you?” Sazabi turned his head down to look at her. “Yes.”

“Are you sad?”

“No. The opposite.” The huge Axian rolled his optic. “Finally, that hill can be associated with something  _else.”_

“I didn’t think it was a bad thing.” Nanako shrugged. “Mom said you saved the city and a lot of people. She also said you saved  _me.”_

Both of them stood in silence for a long time. As the Halo continued its downward path, the speed of the descent increased. A buzz filled the air as it careened towards the ground. The Doga Bombers were now peeling away to avoid the shockwaves that would follow.

Sazabi gripped the fence watching it go down. “You think nothing of it because you don’t remember.”

Nana tugged at Sazabi’s leg. “Doesn’t matter, I guess. You're still my favorite. Pick me up, dummy!”

“Insufferable brat.” He hoisted her up by the straps of her overalls, jostling her slightly before setting her back down. Mom had some pictures around the house of when she was a baby. One of them was from a barbecue they had, taken with a cell phone that had long since been recycled. It was a photograph of Sazabi without all his fancy armor, holding a steak in one hand and Nana as a baby with the other. He couldn't quite hold her like that anymore, but she was still small enough (for now) to be picked up sometimes. She squealed. When her feet were back on the ground, she grabbed his hand and squeezed. 

For a split second, he squeezed back.

The wreckage slammed into the hillside, leaving a cloud of dust and fire, and a smouldering crater in its wake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**I need a hero!**

**I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night.**

**He’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast,**

**and he’s gotta be fresh from the fight.**

**I need a hero!**

**I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the morning light.**

**He’s gotta be sure, and it’s gotta be soon,**

**and he’s gotta be larger than life**

_I Need A Hero_ – Bonnie Tyler

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Omicron stood at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the red landscape below.

“I thought the Dimensional Halo denizens would have been an even match,” he said. As the toxic wind churned the landscape below, he felt a sensation of frustration consume him. An full frontal assault was out of the question, at this rate. “It is now obvious what we need, beyond Gerbera. I supposed it does not matter, in the end. They were only a test. Hakaimaru and Da Jarle were a test.  _All_  of this has been a test. The vulnerably of our enemy comes from within.”

“You know what  _I_  want,” Deed said, irritable. The mech lingered behind, already itching to return to his own world. “But what  _you’re_  after? You'll have to get on your own.”

It said nothing. It did not speak to him the same way it once spoke to Its Herald. It would still be many more years before he was ready to be reborn.

“A distraction, from within. I will begin preparations. The humans will be easy to manipulate.” Omicron turned to his three creations, standing at attention behind him. The forsaken knight had already left, leaving him and his followers on their own once more. “Beta Sigma. Alpha. Mu. Come. We have work to do.”

The Dark Axis Fortress hung barren against the red landscape, the Ghost of the dying beast still dwelling within. Its vengeful heart pulsed with death. The multiverse would once again tremble in the shadow of horror, of the demons that waited.

Forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 **S D    G U N D A M    F O R E V E R**  
  
2 0 1 9

 

 

 **For my friend Meta, who helped me learn to enjoy writing again. Thanks for letting me irreversibly bastardize your AU and con you into writing a massive sequel.**  
  
**You dumb binch.**

 

 

 

 

**F I N**


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